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Sulphur Fumes 

or 

In the Garden of Hell 

































Fumes 


Sulphur 

O R 

IN THE GARDEN OF HELL 


BY 

George Wesley Davis J 

Author of 

“Sketches of Butte," “Alone," etc. 



Los Angeles 

The TIMES-MIRROR Press 

1923 




Copyright, 1923, by 
Times-Mirror Press 
Los Angeles, Calif. 
All Rights Reserved 





/ 




©C1A760131 






CONTENTS 


Page 

Foreword. 7 


Retrospect . 9 


Chapter 

I. 

Sulphur Fumes and Soot . . 

13 

II. 

Through a Dim Glass 

23 

III. 

In the Far Away Santa Ynez 

39 

IV. 

Howard and the Detective 

43 

V. 

Two Coils of Rope .... 

56 

VI. 

Control of the Dunlap Corpora- 



tion. 

69 

VII. 

A Weird Funeral Procession 

75 

VIII. 

Down a Rope Ladder 

82 

IX. 

They Rode Through the Night 

90 

X. 

A New Day. 

99 

XI. 

Two Modes of Procedure . 

119 

XII. 

The Marriage of Julia 



and Anthony. 

131 

XIII. 

In the Palace of Sorrows 

138 

XIV. 

A Price for Honor .... 

163 

XV. 

Twenty Years Have Passed 

170 

XVI. 

Crystal Gazing and the 



Land of Dreams .... 

183 

XVII. 

At the Mouth of a Canyon 

189 

XVIII. 

Under the Cloak of Night 

198 

XIX. 

Through the Garden of Hell 

205 







Chapter Page 

XX. While the Morning Star 

Grew Dim.224 

XXI. Where the Air is not Tainted . 232 

XXII. Love and Sound Philosophy . 241 

XXIII. The Story of Love .... 247 

XXIV. The Break o'Day.254 

XXV. By the Side of the Road . . 263 

XXVI. Paying the Price.272 

XXVII. A Light in the Window . . 284 




FOREWORD 


A few words from the lips of an “old timer” 
gave me the incentive to write this book. He 
spoke in the affectionate remembrance in which 
the pioneers who are left hold the memory of 
early days. “George, why didn’t you give us 
more in ‘Sketches of Butte’ ? It was too short. 
Give us another story. Tell of by-gone days as 
you remember them.” And there seemed to be 
a longing, akin to homesickness, when he sat and 
told wild stories of early-day # doings in Butte, 
and some of the other frontier camps that are 
now ghost towns. Under the title “Sulphur 
Fumes,” I shall give the readers a story of the 
West that has passed away. A time when ox- 
teams trod dusty roads leading over the mighty 
plains, and smoke was seen rising from Indian 
tepees; where road-agents were rampant and the 
blare of the hurdy-gurdy greeted the stranger’s 
ear. A country where tragedy and romance vied 
with each other for supremacy—yet, with it all, 
one of the most beautiful in the World. I shall 
tell of purple canyons and mighty cataracts, and 
we will travel beside verdure-fringed streams 
where the cool waters sing with a lullaby sound 



while seeking the valleys below. I shall tell of 
the cowboy life on the glorious range that blazes 
like fire when the sun goes from sight. And from 
those same vast plains we will witness the break- 
o’-day as we journey on toward snow-capped 
mountains that dazzle and blaze in the sun’s rays 
and sparkle like jeweled diadems when the moon 
looks down. We will travel to where sulphur 
fumes mark the inroads of commercialism— 
where the romance of the Indians gave way and 
where bleached buffalo bones lie beside the tracks 
where engines puff. 

My story is a beautiful romance; a startling 
tragedy all pioneers will remember; yet, in a way, 
a history of the West that has passed away—a 
ringing down of the curtain, as it were, on a scene 
that will never again be enacted. 

— G. W. D. 

Hollywood, California. 

September i, 1923. 


RETROSPECT 

I watched the orange sun go down 
And the world take on its crimson glow, 

And through the haze I seemed to see 
The Indian tents of Long Ago. 

For today on the Mesa, soldiers’ tents 
Supplant the Indian tepee, 

And white men thrive where the red man failed, 
From the East to the Western sea. 

No longer dust of the buffalo herd 
Is seen on the mighty range, 

And of the antelope few are left 
To witness the mightier change. 

Engines puff where ox-teams trod. 

And tall steel girders run 

Beside the tracks where buffalo bones 

Bleach in the blistering sun. 

For progress rules with a cold, hard hand, 

And the Old Romance is dead; 

When stolid farmers plow the land 
That once was the ranger’s bed. 

Her brow is stained by the metal crown 
She has wrung from the land today— 

But with wistful eyes some of us dream 
Of the West that has passed away. 








SULPHUR FUMES 

O R 

IN THE GARDEN OF HELL 









Chapter I 

Sulphur Fumes and Soot 

I T WAS an autumn night in the rugged West 
of early days, a time when the engine’s puff 
and curl of smoke were new on the mighty 
plains; where the buffalo and antelope wandered 
at will, and the “Gee-haw!” and loud crack of the 
long whip of the ox-team driver were heard as 
the slow moving animals plodded along over a 
beaten trail. The night seemed weird, for phan¬ 
tom outlines of low buildings and mystic lights of 
street lamps and pleasure resorts came through 
clouds of sulphur fumes and soot that settled 
over a mining camp that nestled on the side of 
a mountain and close to the mines. Windows of 
log-cabin homes and those of more pretentious 
buildings, made of unplaned boards nailed straight 
up and down, were tightly closed to keep out 
the stifling fumes, and with foundations resting 
on decomposed granite they seemed to be slum¬ 
bering in the region of Hades. The stranger in 
camp stood in awe as he looked upon the odd 
scene and wondered if Hell itself could be more 
unattractive. A policeman, with a dampened 


14 


Sulphur Fumes 


cloth over his mouth and nose to keep the poi¬ 
son from his lungs, stood in the middle of the 
unpaved street and with a lighted torch guided 
traffic, for horses and drivers could scarcely see 
their way through the vitriol blue smoke. Many 
people of different nationalities, some coughing, 
some sneezing and many holding a handkerchief 
to their noses, passed to and fro on the walk 
that was grimy with soot and dust from the 
street. The fumes came from smelters in the 
valley that stretched far out from the base of the 
mountains, and from piles of ore being roasted in 
the open, and in blue clouds settled over the camp 
above. 

Indians called the mounds of roasting ore 
“stink piles” and they felt there was an associa¬ 
tion of the poison gases with the white man and 
Hell. Little groups of red people would often 
stand for some time watching the satanical coils 
of smoke rising from the sapphire flames and 
then with a shrug of their shoulders and grunts, 
pass on up the barren hill. 

On the edge of the walk hard by the street, an 
Indian squaw sat cross-legged with a basket at 
her side while she offered for sale, to the passers- 
by, bead and horn work her people had done. A 
tall buck Indian with a gay colored blanket 
wrapped around his erect body stood close by 


Sulphur Fumes and Soot 


15 


her side, his shining black hair parted in the mid¬ 
dle and plaited in two shiny strands that fell 
over his broad shoulders and hung far down in 
front. 

“Huh! Heap bad stink!” he said in a guttural 
sound, a dialect peculiar to his tribe, and then 
pulled his blanket up until it covered the lower 
part of his face, and once more stood like a 
statue. While in this seemingly stolid position 
three noisy cowboys in broad-brimmed hats, that 
came down well over long wavy hair, reeled by 
and stopped at a door leading into a gambling 
house that adjoined the show place, in front of 
which the Indians were. 

They turned to watch carriages come and go 
in front of a variety theatre and were much in¬ 
terested and amused as they saw the daring cos¬ 
tumes worn by some of the women, for the eclat 
of the camp and those of the underworld mingled 
in pleasant intercourse. They were picturesque 
boys from a remote section—bandana handker¬ 
chiefs were tied close around their tawny necks 
and their sheepskin chaparejos came low over 
rattling spurs that hung loosely over the high 
heels of their boots. 

After standing a few moments, silent on¬ 
lookers, they again turned and entered the gam¬ 
bling house, and after a drink at the bar, sat in 



16 


Sulphur Fumes 


at a poker table, where white and black men were 
playing with a Chinaman who seldom spoke but 
sat studying his cards, while his long fingers, 
tipped with nails that resembled talons of a bird 
of prey, played with a high stack of chips in front 
of him. His thoughts were wholly on the game 
and he paid no attention to the surroundings nor 
did he hear the far-away call of an ox-team 
driver; but the Indian outside did, and he made 
a striking picture as he turned in the direction 
from whch the sound came and raised his hand 
in a horizontal position above his eyes as he tried 
to pierce the gauzy coils of smoke. 

Soon a large, dark object appeared, as if com¬ 
ing from out the clouds and each moment the 
phantom outlines grew more distinct and the call 
of the driver louder as he came nearer. Soon 
the tread of the ox-team was recognized by the 
many people who flocked to the street. They were 
from all walks in life and many different nation¬ 
alities. 

The “bohunks” (a name given those from 
Latin countries) were there dressed in gaudy at¬ 
tire and those of the far North in furs and somber 
garments. 

The camp was a cosmopolitan place—a city 
where bookstores did not grace the business 
streets. People from all points of the compass 


Sulphur Fumes and Soot 


17 


swarmed the thoroughfare—some in bright col¬ 
ors, with tawny skins, came from places where 
they had sat eating ravioli and polio and drinking 
chianti; many women wore much red and yellow 
in their dress and combed their glossy black hair 
down half over their ears that were pierced with 
large hook earrings. They came with dark 
skinned men from places where red and green 
peppers hung from the ceiling and fumes of gar¬ 
lic permeated the air. 

Cowboys and Chinamen rubbed shoulders 
with society folk and all were noticeably excited 
for they knew it meant strangers in the camp 
and news from the outside world, and the gam¬ 
blers and those of other illicit occupations were 
ever ready to meet and fleece the “tenderfoot.” 
Their nerves were alert when the oxen, 'with 
heads hanging low, as if weighted down by the 
massive yoke that crossed from neck to neck, 
swung into sight. The steady motion of their 
bodies, as they plodded along, was as even as 
the swing of the pendulum. 

A serious-appearing man of middle life walked 
beside the animals, while a bright, anxious ap¬ 
pearing boy was slightly in advance. When they 
reached the part of the street where the gambling 
and play houses were, the man called in a loud, 
commanding voice, “Haw!” and the stolid oxen 


18 


Sulphur Fumes 


halted and stood motionless, as if waiting for 
further orders. A crowd of people from the 
walks on both sides of the street pushed forward. 
Garish women, with strikingly attired men of un¬ 
certain occupation, vied with the rugged miner 
and man-of-affairs for places of vantage. 

The boy hurried to the rear end of the “prairie- 
schooner,” in which anxious women and interested 

children sat underneath a canvas covering held 

» 

up in almost wigwam fashion by split hickory 
saplings, bent like half hoops, then fastened to 
each side of the wagon-box. The curious crowd 
pressed in around the wagon, only to be driven 
back by two policemen with torches in hand. The 
woman nearest to the opening in the canvas cov¬ 
ering handed the boy a roll of bedding he had 
used during the long journey across the plains, 
and then passed out an old-fashioned carpetbag, 
such as were used in the far South during seces¬ 
sion days. In it were his personal belongings. 
After thanking them for their kindness to him 
during the hazardous days they had passed 
through, he waved an au revoir and went back to 
speak to the husband and father. 

While he was talking with his friend a re¬ 
pulsive-looking man, swinging a cane and emit¬ 
ting through his front teeth a hissing sound of 
satisfaction, came near where they stood. The 


Sulphur Fumes and Soot 


19 


boy gave a start of wonderment as he turned his 
head and, with a frank expression playing over 
his handsome face, looked into the almost 
obscure eyes of the stranger, for the latter’s lids 
were partly closed and he was speculating hard 
while scrutinizing the young traveler. 

Those standing close by did not miss see¬ 
ing a wicked smirk pass over his uncouth face, 
and wondered, for the man’s unsavory repu¬ 
tation was known by most all who came to the 
camp—if they had not heard in advance they soon 
learned it after reaching the “diggings,” as many 
of the western camps were called. The boy paid 
little attention to him but bade his friends good¬ 
night and hurried to the opposite side of the 
street and entered the door of a little frame hotel, 
where a stranger had been sitting all evening 
watching through the window the curious, almost 
mystic, sights of the street. 

The office of the tavern, for that is a more 
appropriate name for this particular place, was a 
combination office, bar and sitting-room, with a 
corner where men smoked and played cards. 
Small towels hung from short brass chains that 
were fastened to the small bar. The bar itself 
stood in front of a mirror, decorated with an 
artistic sign made of soap. The walls of the 
room.were hung with Indian trappings, souve- 



20 


Sulphur Fumes 


nirs of the hunt, and pictures, some of which 
would cause one to close his eyes. Gaudy theat¬ 
rical posters were there and faded photographs 
tacked on the wall, made grimy and yellow by 
sulphur fumes which had settled over the camp. 

The youth hesitated a moment on the thresh¬ 
old, while his eyes traveled over the different 
scenes until at last they rested on a counter with 
a cigar case at one end and at the other a large 
open book. Back of this counter a young dapper 
looking clerk stood dipping a pen in an inkwell, 
preparatory to handing it to the young stranger, 
who seemed timid in the unusual place. 

When the young man slowly walked to the 
place where the open book lay, the clerk held out 
the pen for him to register and he wrote in a firm 
hand, far in advance of the years his boyish ap¬ 
pearance would denote, “Howard Dunlap, 
Charleston, South Carolina.” 

The young man behind the counter smiled 
pleasantly and said in a friendly manner, while 
looking from the register to Howard’s inquiring 
face, “You’re a long way from home.” 

“Yes,” Howard answered. The friendliness of 
the clerk awoke an altruistic feeling in his heart; 
he was more at ease and did not experience the 
dreadful loneliness that at times comes over the 
“tenderfoot” upon his first visit to the far west. 


Sulphur Fumes and Soot 


21 


He had not noticed the man at the window turn 
around and watch him, nor did he see the man 
he had met in the street follow him into the 
hotel and go quietly to the rear of the room, where 
a card game was in progress. This man, how¬ 
ever, did not sit in nor did he watch the game, 
but stood silently looking at the young stranger. 

“You may send my belongings to my room,— 
I shall not go there for a little while,” Howard 
said to the clerk, who had turned to get a key 
from the rack. They conversed in an undertone 
for a few moments and then Howard thanked 
him for the information received and, turning 
from the clerk, passed out into the street, which 
was still crowded with curious people. 

As Howard disappeared from sight the Jew, 
who had been watching him, went to where the 
clerk stood, and looked over the register. Then, 
as stealthily as he came in, he left the office. The 
man at the window again turned and sat quietly 
scrutinizing the doings on the street. 

Before leaving the office for a walk through 
the crowded streets and some of the resorts, the 
man who had been sitting at the window most of 
the evening left his place of vantage and walked 
to the desk where he looked over the register and 
the clerk heard him say, “Howard Dunlap—very 
strange!” Then he turned and passed out of the 


22 


Sulphur Fumes 


little frontier hotel and stood looking up and 
down the street as far as the sulphur fumes would 
permit. 

“How interesting!” he mused, as he watched 
rough, hard men of rugged mould. The many 
tragic faces held him. “Is there any place in 
the world where life is more cruel than in a min¬ 
ing camp?” he said, half aloud, as he turned and 
walked down the street. 


Chapter II 


Thi *ough a Dim Glass 

I N A REAR ROOM of a frontier shack on 
the side of a gulch, a solitary man, who was 
by many called a miser, lay dying. He was 
a handsome and refined looking man, but money 
was his God, and he was unscrupulous. He was 
president of a fabulously rich corporation, whose 
big mine on the brow of the lonesome looking 
mountain held unlimited possibilities. He was 
suspicious of people in general and chose the life 
almost of a recluse. At times, when he indulged 
in reckless hours, the world was kept in igno¬ 
rance of it. 

An old time melodeon stood in a corner of his 
scantily furnished room and four rickety, wood¬ 
en-back chairs were here and there on a much- 
worn, ingrain carpet that covered the floor. His 
nephew and an uncouth man, many years the 
nephew’s senior, were the only ones in the dingy 
room with the sick man. The bosom of the 
brown flannel shirt the strange man wore was 
decorated with a large solitaire diamond stud and 
much gold had been used in the care of his teeth. 


24 


Sulphur Fumes 


In those days a mouth well filled with gold work 
was a sign of wealth and, in a measure, gave the 
owner both social and financial standing. 

“I wonder how things will go,” he thought, as 
his fingers played with the gaudy ornaments that 
hung from his massive gold watch-chain. While 
he mused, his eyes rested suspiciously on the pil¬ 
lows where the sufferer’s head lay. 

It was the approach of twilight, and the crim¬ 
son glow of sunset gave a weird hue to the 
surroundings as it blended with the satanic color¬ 
ing of the sulphur fumes hanging over the camp. 
Somber thoughts often come when the warm rays 
of the setting sun melt with the moon, and the 
expression on the nephew’s face showed that 
dark thoughts were with him as he sat on the 
side of the invalid’s bed. He held a small canvas 
bag, half filled with silver coins, close to the 
sufferer’s side. His uncle’s right hand was in the 
bag and a wonderful smile enveloped the miser’s 
face as he listened to the jingling sound of the 
coins. He raised them with his long, slender 
fingers and then let them fall back again into the 
bag. That, and a sound that came from a 
stamp-mill across a small ravine close by, helped 
to make his last hours happier ones. His mind 
was wandering and he told in an incoherent 
manner the addition to his wealth each stamp 


Through a Dim Glass 


25 


made. He would turn his head and listen to the 
steady grind as the stamp crushed the rocks with 
their bits of precious metal. 

“Listen,” he said, as a greedy smile of the 
miser came to his face, “a hundred dollars a 
minute.” For the moment the jingling sound of 
the coins was forgotten. “I hope they don’t 
steal any”—his brow knit and his eyes were 
appealing as he looked first to one and then to 
the other—“go and watch them, for the ore is 
rich.” 

Anthony Dunlap, for that was the nephew’s 
name, turned around and, in an undertone, said 
to Jack Harvey, the tall, hard-looking man, “I 
think the end is not far off.” 

Harvey opened his mouth and emitted a large 
cud of tobacco, throwing it underneath a stove 
that stood near the side wall. A stream of 
tobacco juice followed it to its resting place, for 
he seemed rather to try to hit the stove than use 
a cuspidor standing by the side of the bed. 

“Guess you’re right,” was all he said as he 
watched Anthony lean over and straighten one of 
the pillows that had settled down in an uncom¬ 
fortable way, and then turn and smooth out the 
bedding that was all awry. 

“That is nice,” said the patient, smiling feebly 
as the last cover was pulled up in place. Shadows 


26 


Sulphur Fumes 


beneath the sulphur fume shroud lengthened as 
twilight hues died into darker shades of night. 
After a few moments of intense quiet in the cheer¬ 
less room, the dying man turned his head and 
looked to where his nephew sat. 

“Perhaps, tonight,” he said, feebly. “I shall 
cross the unknown river on my journey to the far¬ 
away land we know nothing about. Do you 
think my boat will reach the other shore?” 
There was a pitiful appeal in his feeble voice. 
“I have been a bad captain of my soul and per¬ 
haps my craft will founder before reaching the 
placid sea beyond which lie the lands of mystery.” 

He lapsed into silence and his fingers picked 
at the hem of the bedspread, but only for a 
short time; then a wild light came to his eyes and 
with almost superhuman strength he threw back 
the bedding. 

“Please help me out of bed!” he said in a 
trembling voice, almost inaudible, as he tried to 
raise his body. “I want to pray—Pm afraid— 
I must pray!” With the last words he buried his 
face in his long, bony hands and wept in silence, 
while the others stood looking on. The nephew 
was awe-stricken, for this was a new turn in his 
uncle’s character. 

“I have not prayed since I was a child kneeling 



Through a Dim Glass 27 

at my mother's side,” the dying man said, then 
lay in silence. 

A sneer passed over Harvey’s face as he turned 
from the bed, saying, “Trying to square himself.” 

Anthony noticed the expression and the words 
of the rough man cut deep. 

“Do not censure him, for it is his last hour and 
he realizes he is passing away from things 
material.” 

“Perhaps you are right,” answered Harvey. 
He was about to continue when his attention was 
attracted to the bed where the sick man had 
turned and was putting his feet out from under¬ 
neath the covers. 

“Help me!” said Anthony. “We had better 
humor him for he hasn’t long to stay.” He 
thought how often, after living a careless life, 
the dying turn to God at the eleventh hour and 
ask for succor. 

Carefully, they lifted him out of bed and were 
about to place him in a chair when, with renewed 
strength, he drew away from them and seemed 
defiant. 

“I must go down on my knees by myself.” 
With scarcely a tremor of the muscles, the sick 
man sank to his knees and rested his arms on the 
bed in front of him and, in a soft, clear voice 


28 


Sulphur Fumes 


which the artificial strength gave him, repeated 
the Lord’s Prayer. 

While the old man was offering up a supplica¬ 
tion, the uncouth man hurried through the rear 
door of the shack, crossed the ravine on unplaned 
scantlings placed there in lieu of a bridge, and 
went quickly to the mill, where the ore stamp 
was steadily hammering. Harvey was much 
excited when he met the foreman in the doorway. 

“The old man is dying,” he said, as he caught 
his breath, for the climb was steep and in the 
high altitude the heart beats fast when one over¬ 
exerts. “Please shut down the mill,” he contin¬ 
ued, in short breaths. Then he retraced his steps 
quickly to the poorly lighted room of the lone¬ 
some cabin. 

Hearing the trembling lips of the one kneeling 
at the bedside ask the Lord to forgive him for 
the many sins he had committed, he thought of 
the years he had known the man who was praying 
and how often he had heard him ridicule the 
church and brag that he never went into one. 
Harvey’s eyelids half closed and his upper lip 
curled in scorn as he watched the man at the 
side of the bed, whose supplications became more 
and more pitiful to hear. 

While he stood silently looking on, the dying 
man suddenly stopped speaking and quickly 


Through a Dim Glass 


29 


turned his head, as if intently listening, and, with 
a shrill voice, which in the dimly lighted room 
seemed almost unearthly, called out: “What is the 
matter with the mill?” His hands trembled as 
he tried to raise his body from the kneeling pos¬ 
ture. “Go! They are stealing time!” he cried 
as again he tried to raise himself; “make them 
work overtime!” As he muttered the last words 
he sank to the floor, utterly exhausted, and for 
a moment seemed not to have strength to open 
his eyelids. 

The nephew and Harvey were soon at his side 
and carefully raised and placed him on the 
bed. While Anthony was arranging the pillows 
under the trembling head, Harvey hurried back 
across the ravine and up the path leading to the 
door of the mill. 

“Start up the works!” he called, when half way 
up, “the old man thinks ye’s wastin’ time.” He 
laughed cynically when he reached the door where 
the shift-boss stood, and, after a few words with 
the man in charge, turned, walked back slowly to 
the shack and took his old position at the head 
of the bed, seeming more as if he were waiting 
for something to happen or watching things than 
having a feeling of sympathy or a desire to help 
the sufferer or his nephew. 

Soon the stamp again began its steady grind. 


30 


Sulphur Fumes 


The sick man looked up and smiled, then nestled 
his head back amongst the pillows and fell asleep. 
But it was not for long, as it was a restless state 
and he seemed to be dreaming. T he muscles of 
his face twitched as if he were in trouble. In a 
short time he awoke with a start and a wild look 
came to his eyes as he moved his head so he 
might look around the room. 

“Raise me up!” he whispered excitedly. His 
voice carried with it a pitiful appeal as he looked 
at those close by. “Where is she?” he asked, 
and again his eyes traveled around the room. 

“Whom do you mean?” asked Anthony. 

“Didn’t you see a young girl standing by the 
side of my bed? Oh, my little girl!” Tears 
came to his eyes as he continued to speak, and 
each word seemed a great effort. “Will God 
forgive me?” 

Anthony slowly shook his head and his thought 
conveyed to Jack Harvey was, “His mind is. 
wandering.” The expression of his troubled face 
was akin to his thoughts. 

“Raise me up a little higher!” whispered the 
dying man. 

Anthony put his arms around the sick man’s 
shoulder and, in doing this, turned his back 
towards the head of the bed. While he was in 
this position the uncouth man leaned over, put 


Through a Dim Glass 


31 


his hand under the lower pillow and removed a 
bunch of keys which belonged to the sufferer and 
which for years he had placed underneath his 
pillow every night just before turning out his 
light. Quickly and carefully, in order not to 
attract Anthony’s attention, Harvey put the keys 
in his trousers’ pocket, his face again assuming 
the sympathetic expression of a few moments 
before. 

Harvey and Anthony were too engrossed in 
other matters to notice the board shutter at the 
window as it slowly opened, or to see the boy 
who wiped off one of the small, soot-dimmed 
panes of glass with his much worn coat sleeve 
and stood silently looking into the room. The 
sad-faced young fellow as he stood close to the 
window did not know that the man he had seen 
on the street was standing in the shadow of a 
building close by nor that the man who had sat 
at the window of the little hotel where he regis¬ 
tered was passing along a trail on the mountain¬ 
side just above the shack. 

A wild stare came to the patient’s eyes as his 
head, as if drawn by a magnet, turned towards 
the window. At first he could not speak, but it 
was only for a short time. Then a smile played 
over his shrunken face and his outstretched arms 
pointed towards the window. 


32 


Sulphur Fumes 


“My son!” he said, feebly. In a few seconds 
his head fell forward and in a moment more his 
soul had passed away. 

The two men as they laid the body back on the 
bed simultaneously looked towards the window 
and stood speechless for they knew who the frail 
boy was. While Anthony Dunlap, Jr., was draw¬ 
ing the sheet up over his uncle’s body, Jack Har¬ 
vey went to the door, opened it and, passing out, 
closed it behind him. 

“Git now! Git!” As he spoke he pulled the 
boy roughly away from the window. 

The startled child—for he was little more than 
that—trembled, and his voice was appealing as he 
looked up to Harvey’s hard face and spoke, 
“Please let me go in and see my father!” 

“Who’s yer father?” sneered Harvey. 

“Mr. Dunlap, who lives here,” was the frank 
answer. 

The uncouth man’s smile was wicked as he 
gave a cruel thrust, “Ye can’t prove it, kin ye?” 

The boy’s face blanched as he heard the cruel 
words. While on his way from the hotel he had 
heard two men talking about the rich man and 
his holdings. They had been slowly walking 
along the same road and the tired boy had held 
back when he heard the name “Dunlap” spoken 


Through a Dim Glass 33 

and, unknown to the miners, overheard part of 
their conversation. 

“Old Dunlap will probably die in a day or so 
and somebody will come in for a big pile.” 

He had walked slowly and listened for a 
moment and then hurried past them and was soon 
at the little cabin. Thus, in a way, he was pre¬ 
pared for unpleasantness of most any kind, and 
his voice was half spirited as he answered the 
sneering Harvey. 

“Yes, I can—if you will let me go in the 
house.” 

He knew he was taking a chance, for two 
years before when he was much more of a child, 
he had been driven away from this same door by 
the man whom he now hoped would acknowledge 
him as his son. After passing the men on his 
walk up the hill to the lonely shack many thoughts 
had come to his young mind. Sorrow and hard¬ 
ship had made him old for his years, and one 
thought was that perhaps while in the shadow of 
death, his father would want to make reparation 
for some of the wrongs he had committed. In 
a more quiet voice he again asked to be allowed 
to go into the house. 

“It wouldn’t do ye no good to go in,” answered 
Harvey wickedly, “the old man just died.” 


34 


Sulphur Fumes 


While Harvey was speaking, Adolph Kovinsky 
came from his hiding place around the corner of 
the cabin. He was of a type that would rob 
women and children and blackmail men, and was 
ever ready to do filthy work for the highest 
bidder. He thought there was a great oppor¬ 
tunity in this case. 

“Jack, vy ist?” he said, as he came nearer to 
where Harvey stood. 

“Oh, this damn kid is here again!” replied 
Harvey, with a wicked sneer. 

“Yes, I ze—he comes, tonight, and I haf been 
votching him.” With a motion of the head, Ko¬ 
vinsky beckoned Harvey to come still nearer. 
“How ess ze boss?” he asked, in an undertone. 

“He died a few moments ago,” answered 
Harvey, “and it is a hell of a time for this kid 
to show up, for some fellow may get hold of 
him and raise all kinds of trouble.” 

They did not hear approaching footsteps as a 
man from the trail above came quickly to where 
they stood. When starting out for his walk this 
man had purposely turned his course in the direc¬ 
tion of the Dunlap cabin and was never so far 
away from the boy that he could not see a phan¬ 
tom outline of his form. He had noticed the 
rough treatment Harvey had given the young 


Through a Dim Glass 


35 


fellow, and when he saw Kovinsky come from the 
shadow where he had been in hiding, he hastened 
his steps and, in places, slid on the decomposed 
granite. He knew the two men to be treacherous 
characters and he was afraid they might harm 
the boy. 

Harvey ignored the newcomer and again took 
Howard by the shoulder and pushed him violent¬ 
ly towards the road. 

“Clear out of here, damn ye, else something 
will happen to ye!” 

Stanley Weyman (for that was the name of 
the man from the trail above) put his hands on 
his hip pockets, and when Harvey again started 
towards the boy, he whipped out two six shooters 
and leveled one towards Harvey and the other 
on Kovinsky. 

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, with a determined 
expression playing over his face, and the men 
knew they were in his power. 

“Howard, my boy, come here by me!” He 
did not look at the boy as he spoke, but kept his 
eyes on the two men. 

Howard recognized the speaker as a man he 
had seen sitting at a window in the little hotel 
and hurried to where he stood with a cocked 
gun in each hand. It was in the days of the 
trigger and the guns were heavy, but his hands 


36 


Sulphur Fumes 


did not waver as he ordered Harvey and his 
companion back into the shack. 

“Now come with me, Howard,” he said to the 
trembling boy, who stood with dilated eyes while 
he looked upon the desperate scene and wondered 
how it was the stranger knew his name. Weyman 
knew the boy’s history, for it was part of his busi¬ 
ness to know such things, and his whole heart 
went out to the lad. He was a man whose calling 
in life would suggest harshness, but it was not 
there. He knew the desperate character of Jack 
Harvey and, for this reason, he backed slowly 
away from the shack, keeping his guns cocked and 
leveled on the place, one on the door and one on 
the window, until the low building became merely 
an outline and he knew all danger of a shot was 
past. He then lowered the firearms and, after 
carefully letting down the hammers, put one in 
each hip pocket. 

“Come, now, my boy,” he said, as he took 
Howard by the hand, “let us walk back to the 
hotel.” 

A stiff night wind had driven the fumes away 
and the atmosphere was clear and cool. They 
both felt the exhilarating effect of the mountain 
air and for some time walked along in silence. 
Mr. Weyman was the first to speak, and that 
was not until they had almost reached the hotel. 


Through a Dim Glass 


37 


“I am not going to let you stay alone, tonight,” 
he said, as his friendly hand closed a little tighter 
on the boy’s fingers. “I am going to take you 
home to my room.” 

Howard did not at once reply in words, but 
moved closer to the speaker’s side, then looked 
straight in his face and spoke with much feeling. 

“Tell me,” he said, “what is your name?” 

“Stanley Weyman,” replied the man, with a 
friendly smile which won the boy’s confidence, and 
for a moment they again walked in silence. 

“I am glad you were near when those men 
attempted to drive me away. How did you 
happen to be there?” 

“I slid down the hill,” laughed Stanley. “No, 
seriously,” he continued, “I noticed you come in 
and register and then go out, and shortly after 
you left the office I saw Kovinsky go to the desk 
and scan the register and then go out quickly. I 
also started out for a walk on the street and to 
stroll through some of the gambling houses. 
But I stopped at the desk, and there I found your 
name. I suspected where you had gone and also 
suspected Kovinsky of following you; so I gave 
up my accustomed stroll and took a trail that 
led up the hill where I could look down on your 
father’s shack.” 


38 


Sulphur Fumes 


“You believe he was my father?” interrupted 
Howard. 

“Yes,” answered Stanley, affectionately. 

“I was anxious to see him because he was my 
father and I felt sure he would, in his old age, 
recognize me before the world and place me right 
before the people, and—then I would have a 
name; but, no, he died without doing it.” 

“Never mind, my son,” said Stanley, “you will 
have a name—you will make one for yourself.” 
They continued their walk in silence until they 
had almost reached the hotel. 

“You had better enter the house alone,” said 
Stanley, breaking the silence. “My room number 
is thirty-six. Sit around in the office for about 
a half an hour and then, unobserved, come to that 
number and the door will be unlocked. Do not 
knock but enter quietly. I will see that your 
belongings are there to greet you and you will 
have nothing to fear.” 


Chapter III 

In the Far Away Santa Ynez 


W HILE ANTHONY DUNLAP, Sr., 
with a smile on his face, was being lulled 
to sleep by the steady grind of ore, 
which to him meant more wealth, the soul of a 
little girl was passing to the great beyond. She 
lay burning with fever in a humble log cabin that 
stood on the ocean side of the Santa Ynez Moun¬ 
tains of California. She was restless, and in her 
delirium often turned her curly head and gazed 
steadily at her mother sitting close by the side 
of the bed. Through the nearby window a soft 
perfume of flowers came from blossoms spark¬ 
ling with dew in places where the moon- 
drifts came. The little home was removed 
from other habitations on the mountainside. 
There was a restful appearance to the cabin 
for it w r as surrounded by flowers of many 
hues and well kept vegetable beds. Often the 
bleat of a goat or crow of a rooster was heard by 
passers-by, for the road was just below the little 
home and near a creek where babbling waters 


40 


Sulphur Fumes 


danced over rocks and could be heard in the 
room where the sick child lay. 

When the mother spoke to the little sufferer 
who did not understand, there was no suggestion 
of humble origin. In the days and years that 
had passed, her smile was sad but sweet and her 
grace as she moved about suggested the drawing¬ 
room. The sunset hour, with its purple and 
crimson hues, often found her sitting quietly by 
the window gazing far out to where the glow of 
the sky and sheen of the waters blended in shim¬ 
mering mystery. Often at such times her mind 
traveled down the road to yesterday, and on those 
journeys she saw her mother going about her 
home duties; and on a path leading to a country 
schoolhouse that stood in the woods she would 
meet a man past middle life who often came to 
meet her and carry her books, and she thought 
of the many times they sat on the banks of a pretty 
verdure-fringed stream. 

“I must not, for my child’s sake,” she would 
often say and, brushing a tear from her cheek, 
would turn from the window and try to blot out 
the memory. From another window at break- 
o’day when dawn-mists came and the morning 
star grew dim, she would watch through an hiatus 
in the mountains that lay to the east the rose- 


In the Far Away Santa Ynez 41 

colored tints of the rising sun as they came to 
drive the mist away. 

And so her days and years were spent. This 
night she sat counting the stars and watching the 
moon hide behind wandering clouds, all the time 
listening to the slow breathing of the sick child. 
There was a slight stir of the counterpane and a 
faint voice came to where she sat with her fore¬ 
head resting in the palm of one of her hands. 
Tears of joy came to the watcher’s eyes for she 
knew the delirium was passing. 

“Mother, move closer to my bedside.” 

The little one intently watched her mother as 
she drew her chair close to where she lay. 

“Mother,” she said in a soft, childlike voice 
that carried with it almost an appeal, “other lit¬ 
tle girls have fathers, why haven’t I one?” 

The mother’s face blanched and then quickly 
crimsoned as she placed her hand on the little 
sufferer’s brow. 

“You have one, my dear child,” she said, as 
she wiped away the tears that were fast coming 
to her eyes. 

“Will he come to see me?” 

“Dear one, you will go to see him.” 

She raised her heavy eyelids and looked inquir¬ 
ingly at her mother when she spoke. 


42 


Sulphur Fumes 


“And will he hold me on his lap and kiss me as 
Mr. Grimes does Mabel?” 

“I hope so.” It was a moment before the 
mother could again speak. “Come, my little pet, 
try and go to sleep.” 

“I will, mother, and perhaps I shall dream of 
my father.” With a happy smile, she closed her 
eyes, and soon the heavy breathing told the 
watchful mother that her little one was in slum- 
berland. All the while the frail lips moved and 
smiled and the breathing became softer and softer, 
and when the morning star dimmed and the grey 
mist came the smile had not left the lips that had 
grown cold. 

For many days the mother sat by a window in 
the desolate cabin and looked out upon a lone, 
flower-covered mound on the side of a hill, where 
birds were teaching their young to fly and how 
to look for food. Before the winter rains came, 
strangers, passing by, looked upon two mounds 
on the hillside. 


Chapter IV 

Howard and the Detective 

S TANLEY did not sleep during the long, 
dark hours of the night, nor did he read 
before retiring, as had been his custom, for 
he wished the tired boy’s sleep to be undisturbed. 
After turning out the light he lay down on his 
bed, but sleep would not come, and when the lit¬ 
tle traveler’s breathing grew soft and told df 
wandering in slumberland, he quietly left his bed 
and drew a chair close to the window. 

The atmosphere was still clear and there he 
sat watching the tragedies of life, and at the 
break o’ day he quietly placed a Japanese screen, 
profusely decorated with iris and many pond- 
lilies, around the head of Howard’s cot, for he 
wished to keep out the red morning light and 
let the tired and heart-sick boy sleep late. This 
was the first time in several months the lad had 
slept between cool, clean sheets and rested his 
head on a snow-white pillow; for, while crossing 
the plains, he had rolled up in his blanket and 
laid down to sleep on mother earth near where 
the oxen were resting, and his carpetbag was his 


Sulphur Fumes 


44 

pillow. When he reached the hills, his friend 
who drove the oxen taught him how to make a 
bed of pine boughs and how to lay the branches 
so the needles would point toward the foot. 

After seeing there was no draught on the 
sleeping boy, Stanley went again to the open win¬ 
dow and sat looking down upon the street where 
miners with dinner buckets were passing; some 
coming from work and others going on shift; and 
his vibrant gaze would travel to where little 
barefoot boys were selling papers near where 
Indian squaws were picking bits of food from 
garbage boxes that stood on the edge of the walk 
and barrels that were in the street. Near the 
walk some idlers stood talking; others, bleary- 
eyed and unsteady, were wending their way 
home. 

Now and then his brow would knit and his 
eyelids half close as a hack, with top thrown 
back, would pass with a load of intoxicated rev¬ 
elers, both men and women, who had spent the 
night in road-houses in the valley and were com¬ 
ing home after a full night of mundane delights. 

Moving his chair back from the casement, he 
tiptoed across the room and out into the hall, 
returning in a few moments with a man carrying 
an ordinary zinc wash-tub. 

“Please place it in this corner,” he said to 


Howard and the Detective 45 

the man, who inquiringly looked towards the cot 
where Howard lay protected from view by the 
decorated screen. “Now, you may bring in the 
water and pour it carefully.” 

“Sure I will,” the man whispered, and his eyes, 
with a knowing expression, turned towards the 
door that stood half ajar. 

Stanley noticed, and bit his lip to refrain from 
speaking. “Always suspicious,” he mused as he 
watched the man turn and leave for another bucket 
of water. The interest the tall screen aroused in 
the unclean mind of the servant caused him to for¬ 
get, and the pouring of the water awakened the 
boy from the deep morning sleep. The boy raised 
on his elbow and, in a half-reclining posture, re¬ 
mained silent until the last pail of water had been 
emptied into the tub. 

“Mr. Weyman,” he said, as the door closed 
behind the man who had carried the water, “is it 
time to get up ?” 

“Yes, Howard,” affectionately assured Stanley, 
and then removed the screen from around the cot 
and placed it before the tub that stood in the cor¬ 
ner of the plain, unattractive room. 

There were mingled thoughts in the boy’s mind 
as he watched his self-appointed friend move 
quietly about the room. 

“Come, laddie,” said Stanley, with a fatherly 
smile, “just slip in behind the screen and take your 


46 


Sulphur Fumes 


bath while I go down and order breakfast, for we 
are going to have it up here.” 

Howard wondered at this, for such luxuries 
were new to him. 

“We might as well go down-stairs,” he said, as 
he moved the screen aside just enough to pass in 
behind. 

“No, my boy,” smiled Stanley, “it must be up 
here this morning.” Before Howard had time to 
ask questions, the door closed and he was on the 
stairs leading down to the office. 

The clerk behind the desk motioned to him 
when he came in sight and he went quickly to 
where the young man stood. 

“I hear Old Dunlap died last night, and I also 
hear he is to be buried, tomorrow,” the clerk said 
in an undertone and then stood thoughtful for a 
moment. Stanley waited to hear what comments 
he had to make, but he seemed to be waiting for 
Stanley to take the initiative. 

When the silence bordered on embarrassment 
he looked quickly around the office and, leaning 
forward, spoke in almost a whisper, for there 
were many loiterers in the small room, “I am won¬ 
dering who will get his millions.” He put his 
hand sidewise at the corner of his mouth and, with 
a very wise expression, added: “That boy, How¬ 
ard Dunlap, who registered here last night, they 
say is his son, an’ I guess it is so for he didn’t 


Howard and the Detective 47 

sleep in his room last night; suppose he was with 
the old man. His clothes are gone an’ he put the 
price of the room an’ his food in this envelope an’ 
addressed it to the boss an’ then I suppose 
skipped—you know bashful kids often do queer 
things.” 

It was difficult for Stanley to refrain from smil¬ 
ing, for the clerk had not recognized his handwrit¬ 
ing. It was, of course, his doing while the boy lay 
asleep. 

“He was over here two years ago,” the clerk 
continued confidentially, “an’ the old man turned 
him away from his house, an’—worse’n that— 
had Kovinsky an’ Jack Harvey run him out of 
town. Them two is a hard bunch (Stanley 
thought so too as he stood listening) ; ’specially 
Harvey; an’ some people say he is a hypnotizer, 
an’ that’s the way he gits lots of wimmen he keeps 
in the stockade, but the Jew is a coward—’ceptin’ 
with wimmen an’ children.” 

“By ‘ stockade,’ do I understand you to mean 
his hurdy-gurdy?” 

“Yes, they is jist the same,—the wimmen can’t 
git out onest they git in.” 

“Oh,” said Stanley, turning away. Without 
comment he went to the door leading into the din¬ 
ing room and spoke to a waiter who stood close by. 

“I am going to have my breakfast in my room 



48 


Sulphur Fumes 


this morning.” He gave the order for one and 
when he finished, the waiter, in a familiar man¬ 
ner, characteristic of the mining camp, said: 

“Eatin’ a pretty big breakfast for one, Mr. 
Weyman,” and, with a knowing smile, hurried off 
in the direction of the kitchen. Stanley returned 
to his room. 

When the tray was made ready and brought to 
the apartment he partly opened the door and took 
it from the waiter’s hands. 

“I will arrange things,” he said, and closed the 
door, but not before placing a silver piece in the 
man’s hand that seemed to be much in evidence 
just at that time. The waiter knew his man’s 
reputation for liberality and in his suspicious mind 
he was figuring on “hush” money. Stanley wished 
to keep Howard’s whereabouts unknown and 
spirit him out of the camp as soon as an oppor¬ 
tunity presented itself and he hoped that would 
come soon after Dunlap, Senior’s, funeral. Dur¬ 
ing the night he had taken a key from the boy’s 
pocket and gone to his room and gathered his be¬ 
longings together and, after placing a sealed en¬ 
velope, addressed to the manager of the hotel, 
on the wash-stand, had gone back to his own 
room, taking the things with him. The belong¬ 
ings were not many for the young traveler had 
but one suit of clothes and that he wore. 


Howard and the Detective 49 

When the waiter’s footsteps died away Stanley 
placed the tray on a trunk and then spread a large, 
red and white checkered napkin with fringe on it 
over the top of a stand where he kept his papers 
and periodicals. With a touch as dainty as a 
woman’s, he placed the dishes on the improvised 
table. When all was arranged to his satisfaction, 
he turned to where Howard sat looking on and, 
in a jovial manner, placed his hands on the back 
of the chair and pushed it up to the table. 

“My boy,” he laughed, “as you are company, 1 
am going to let you have the cup. I shall empty 
this glass and use it for my coffee and we can take 
turns in using the knife and fork.” 

The boy was making a strenuous effort to ap¬ 
pear light-hearted but, despite will-power, his 
mind traveled back to the shack beside the ravine 
and the tragic scene he had witnessed the night 
before through the dim window-pane. Now and 
then, he would wipe away a tear with the sleeve 
of his coat, which was frayed at the wrist. 

“Howard, call me ‘Stanley,’ ” said Mr. Wey- 
man, as he reached over and patted the boy on the 
shoulder. “Do not shed any more tears than nec¬ 
essary; your life is practically before you. You’ve 
only lived a few ‘kid’ years. Last night was the 
beginning of a new life for you and, in living it, 
steer away from the path that leads through Geth- 


50 


Sulphur Fumes 


semane, for the world needs the cheerful soul and 
as many smiles as we can give; and always remem¬ 
ber, character is developed in the extremes of life. 
As I said before, you have lived but a few ‘kid’ 
years. Many say sorrow is the greatest builder 
of character, and perhaps it is—but it is an ex¬ 
treme just the same; so, put up a bold front to the 
world no matter how the heart aches. At times, 
all may seem dark around, but just ‘kick in’ with 
a smile and it will bring sunshine.” 

Howard’s face brightened as he listened to the 
kind words. He wondered if they came from 
truly altruistic thoughts, but the doubt, if there 
really was any, soon vanished, for a few moments 
later found him talking very freely with his friend. 

“Do you know where your mother is?” asked 
Stanley, as they finished the meal and placed their 
chairs near ,a window covered with a net curtain 
which looked as if it were pining for the cleaners. 

“My mother is dead,” he answered slowly, and 
moved closer to the window. “A grey day,” he 
said, as if attempting to change the subject. 

“No, not grey,” said Stanley, as he moved his 
chair closer to where the boy stood beside his 
chair, “but mauve.” The wind had ceased to 
blow while they were at breakfast and the sap¬ 
phire fumes were blending with the slate-colored 


Howard and the Detective 51 

smoke. Like low-hanging clouds they settled over 
the camp. 

“Before my mother died she asked me always 
to keep the name of Dunlap. ‘For by the right of 
God it belongs to you,’ she said, and in a short 
time after saying the words she passed away. She 
died just before I came out here two years ago. 
She asked me to come as soon after her funeral 
as I could. She seemed to dread leaving me with 
strangers. I do not know whether or not she had 
any relatives; she never spoke of any. ‘Promise 
me you will go to your father,’ she implored, and 
exacted the promise from me; so I came soon after 
her death.” 

His voice was full of passion as he told of the 
treatment he received at the time, not only from 
the man whom he called “Father” but from Kov- 
insky, and Jack Harvey. 

Stanley was pleased to see the fire of hatred 
blaze in the boy’s eyes as he continued to talk. 
“It looks as if he had some spunk,” he thought, 
as he sat quietly listening, “and he seems so open 
and above board.” 

“Stanley, what is your business?” Howard 
abruptly asked. 

Weyman was surprised at the direct question 
but answered just as quickly. 


52 


Sulphur Fumes 


“I am a detective,” he said, and then sat study¬ 
ing the boy’s changed expression. A pleased 
smile passed over his kindly face, for he thought 
how most boys stood in awe when the word de¬ 
tective was mentioned. “It carries with it a touch 
of romance,” he mused. 

“You are not afraid of me, are you,” he asked, 
“just because I have chosen the life of an investi¬ 
gator?” 

“The life of an investigator!” Howard re¬ 
peated to himself, “I had never thought of it in 
that light.” 

“To solve mysteries, to ferret out criminals, to 
separate the good from the bad and bring the bad 
into line or back into the fold, as it were. Is there 
a more noble calling, if one has the aptitude and 
a desire to do right—to annotate life?” 

“No, Stanley, you put it in an entirely different 
light. I had always associated a detective with 
one whose life was a lie,—one who masquerades 
in public, and in private hides in shadows and 
peeks through key-holes—” 

“Like the sleuth,” interrupted Stanley with a 
hearty laugh. “How old he seems, and with a 
mind so far in advance of his years,” he mused, 
as he continued aloud: “In many cases it is nec¬ 
essary to employ them. I am not a sleuth. I am 




Howard and the Detective 53 

here in the camp supposedly a mining man but, in 
reality, am here for my health.” 

Stanley was silent for some time before con¬ 
tinuing and Howard sat quietly studying his 
serious face, for he saw in the man before him a 
different character from what he had expected to 
find in the rough camp. 

“I have the aptitude for the work,” he smiled, 
as he looked up to Howard, “and you know one 
must not be idle. I pray that my malady will per¬ 
mit me to be active to the last.” 

Stanley knew that his disease could never be 
cured, though at times it was alleviated by science; 
but he also knew that in time science would cease 
to benefit him and the last hour would come, and 
with cheerful courage he looked this certainty in 
the face. “It may be many years before the end 
comes,” he often thought. The elasticity of his 
intellectual and moral nature enabled him, in the 
intervals between physical suffering, to lay aside 
morbid thoughts and see the beauty in life and 
take on a lovable seriousness and a desire to do 
for others. 

“Life without some suffering is like a painting 
without shadows,” he often said. He told how he 
loved to live apart from the tumult of the world, 
and how he often took refuge for a week or two 


54 


Sulphur Fumes 


at a time on a stock ranch far removed from civil¬ 
ization where there would be no dissonance with 
his treasured thoughts. 

“I have a claim here in this camp,” he contin¬ 
ued, “and several men working it. If they strike 
something, very well and good; if not, it does not 
matter. I am supposed to be a wealthy, lonesome 
bachelor, refined but peculiar in disposition, and 
one who drifts around amongst all classes and 
conditions looking for diversion. I am telling 
you all this because I intend to be your friend—if 
you will let me.” 

He hesitated, thinking the boy might offer a 
suggestion, but Howard sat silently waiting to 
hear more. 

“At this moment you are in a precarious situ¬ 
ation and ought to have someone to guide you.” 

“Stanley,”—and Howard spoke more as a man 
of the world than a boy of fourteen—“I am alone 
in the world. I like the way you talk to me, and 
what you did for me last night was wonderful! I 
know I need a friend, and I want you to be that 
friend.” 

He could say no more but threw his arms 
around Stanley and wept like a frail girl rather 
than a boy. 

“You say you have no relatives on your moth¬ 
er’s side?” said Stanley, while trying to suppress 


Howard and the Detective 55 

the emotion that had come to him, a man accus¬ 
tomed to witness so much of the sorrow of life. 

The boy spoke with trembling lips, “I have 
been told of a half-sister in California, but she 
would be on my father’s side.” He looked 
towards the street where were people, some 
loitering, some hurrying along and others stagger¬ 
ing in the fumes. Then he turned back to Stanley 
but did not speak for some time, and then it was 
in an appealing voice: “She is in the same position 

I * )) 

am in. 

“We will try to locate her,” said Stanley. 
“With your consent, I will bring an attorney to 
see you this afternoon and he will talk with you 
perhaps more intelligently than I can, and we will 
plan some mode of procedure.” 

“Mr. Weyman, you are very kind!” exclaimed 
Howard. 

“Now, now, laddie,” and he playfully shook 
his finger at the boy, “it’s Stanley. Let’s be boys 
together. I’m going now. Do not pull the cur¬ 
tains aside for it is very necessary that your where¬ 
abouts are not known.” Saying this, he put on 
his hat and left the room, and Howard quietly 
locked the door behind him and again returned to 
the window and took his seat behind the fume- 
stained curtains. 


Chapter V 

Two Coils of Rope 


T HE AFTERNOON was far advanced 
when Stanley and an elderly gentleman 
came into the room. They found Howard 
fast asleep on the cot where he had rested the 
night before. It was the deep sleep of youth, a 
time of life when the nerve tension easily slackens 
and the eyelids close in peaceful sleep. They each 
carried a coil of rope, carefully wrapped in brown 
paper to protect it from the idler’s eye. They did 
not awaken the boy, but quietly unwrapped the 
concealed hemp. 

“It is plenty heavy enough,” said the elderly 
man, as he examined a loose end of the coil he 
had carried. “It would take a heavier drop than 
the boy to snap it.” 

“It is only humane not to let him see any more 
of this preparation than is necessary,” and saying 
this, Stanley took from his pocket two heavy 
screw-hooks and fastened them securely in the 
wainscoting underneath the window-sill, and then 
tried them to see if they were without flaws. His 
companion stood with one end of the rope in his 


Two Coils of Rope 


57 


hand while he watched Stanley pull on the hooks. 

“Yes, they are strong enough,” he said, as he 
turned to where the elder man stood. 

“This takes me back a few years,” said the 
onlooker, “when one afternoon we prepared for 
the lynching of five""road-agents”; and Stanley 
stood and listened with much interest as he told 
of the lynching of several desperadoes at one time. 

“We were mighty careful in making each 
noose,” he began in an undertone, and as he spoke 
Stanley glanced now and then to where Howard 
lay sleeping. “We used rosin and oil on each 
rope and tested the strength with weights—heavy 
rocks tied in a sack. I think it was one of the 
most interesting lynchings we ever pulled off.” 

“Would you care to tell me about it?” 

“Certainly,” and, when he spoke, Stanley 
thought he saw a peculiar coldness in that smile. 
“Perhaps it is just firmness,” he mused, as he lis¬ 
tened to his friend tell how one morning when the 
rose-colored glow of the rising sun was blending 
with the opal of the moon, four wagons were 
driven underneath the spreading branches of a 
large, gnarled tree that grew beside a lonely road. 

“Each wagon contained a condemned man and 
four guards,” and he told how each wagon was 
backed up underneath a strong limb that had been 
tested the night before, and of the covered car- 



58 


Sulphur Fumes 


riage that was hurriedly driven to the scene. “It 
contained the judges,” he said, “a minister and 
the hangman, who was dressed in a long, black 
robe-like gown made so as to hide his figure from 
any possible identification should any friends of 
the condemned chance to be in the crowd and wish 
to revenge their death; and a black cap with a 
fore-piece that was well pulled down to cover 
his face. 

“In the crowd that gathered,” he said, “there 
were a few women whose nerves were alert from 
the effects of drink, and the dark lines under 
the eyes told of a lack of sleep. Morbid curi¬ 
osity brought them there. It was a combination 
of desperate characters that swung from that gal¬ 
lows nature provided. Perhaps I should say all 
but one, for there has always been a doubt in my 
mind as to one of them—I mean as to character.” 

Stanley again nervously looked to where How¬ 
ard lay sleeping and with a motion of his head 
said in almost a whisper, “Come over and sit 
down. The boy might waken and hear.” 

The attorney followed him to the window 
where two chairs stood and, after they were com¬ 
fortably seated, he continued his story in an under¬ 
tone. 

“The condemned were told to stand up in the 
wagon bed and then the nooses were adjusted and 



Two Coils of Rope 


59 


the guards took their places just behind the crim¬ 
inals. They were told they might speak and say 
anything they wished. Two of them were stolid 
and it seemed as if they were dazed more at the 
sight of the noose than by the large crowd that 
had gathered.” 

Then he told of the other two and the striking 
difference in the men as they stood in the shadow 
of death. 

“The younger of the two,” he said, “became 
hysterical and ranted in a profane and obscene 
manner, and while in a tirade of abuse directed 
against all humanity, became exhausted and could 
speak no more. The other was, oh, so different, 
and awe spread over those gathered to witness the 
ghastly affair when he began to speak. He con¬ 
fessed to the murder he committed but with it all 
there was something about the man that told of a 
better life. There was a refinement about his 
bearing as he stood with dignified mien looking 
down upon the crowd. His manner was delicate 
and his voice low but clear, as he protested against 
his lynching. 

“ ‘The law should take its course,’ he said, and 
hesitated a moment before continuing. ‘You are 
more guilty of murder than I am for you are 
knowingly violating the law.’ He then courte¬ 
ously bowed and indicated to the guards that he 


60 


Sulphur Fumes 


was ready. The black cap was soon drawn over 
his head, as had been done to the other three, and 
the signal was given for the guards to leave the 
wagons; and simultaneously the hangman came 
from the closed carriage. His step was quick and 
jerky, as he hurried to the nearest wagon.” 

He then told how the hangman stood nervously 
glancing from one wagon to the other and then, 
with the dexterity of a deer, mounted to the foot¬ 
rest of the wagon nearest to him and, with a quick 
lash of the whip he carried, sent the horses plung¬ 
ing forward, but only a few feet, for men who had 
been stationed there for the purpose grabbed 
them by the bridle close to the bit. The con¬ 
demned man swung into space. In an instant the 
hangman was on the second wagon; and so on, 
until he left the fourth; then, as quickly as he had 
come, he entered the closed carriage and was 
driven away while the men dangling at the end 
of the ropes were struggling with death. 

“Even in the last moment,” he said, “the fourth 
man seemed different from the others for his body 
swayed once and then hung motionless. There 
were no convulsive throes or contortions of the 
muscles, as with the others, and death came with¬ 
out a struggle.” 

“I should have disliked to have been the hang¬ 
man,” said Stanley. 


Two Coils of Rope 


61 


“It was never learned who he was. Cards 
with numbers on were placed in a hat and each 
member of the committee drew a card and the 
one drawing number seven was marked to do the 
deed. They all were in honor bound not to 
divulge, even among themselves, the number they 
had drawn, for to know who the man was meant 
death at the hand of some outlaw; not that he 
was a friend of the criminal but as a general re¬ 
venge and hatred for the vigilantes.” 

They were interrupted by Howard, who had 
wakened from sleep and was sitting on the side 
of his cot, and with much curiosity was intently 
looking at the two coils of rope that lay on the 
floor. 

“Stanley, what are you going to do with that 
rope?” he asked, before he noticed the elderly 
man who sat near the window. 

Stanley directed a quick glance towards his 
friend, and all the answer he gave was: “I will 
tell you after awhile,” and then added in a kindly 
voice, “Howard, come over here. I want you to 
meet and talk with Judge Howell.” 

The boy was a manly young fellow, and in a 
straightforward way answered as best he could all 
questions the Judge asked. 

“It will be necessary,” said Judge Howell, “to 
have a guardian appointed for you, but that will 


62 


Sulphur Fumes 


not necessitate your appearing in court. Have 
you anyone whom you wish to act in that ca¬ 
pacity?” 

“I am a stranger in these parts,” answered 
Howard; “I should like to have Mr. Weyman, 
if he will act as such, for he has been very kind 
to me.” 

Stanley thanked the confiding boy for the 
compliment, but told him he thought he could do 
more for him if he were not known in the case. 

“You have a hard ‘bunch 1 to meet and they 
need watching,” said Stanley, with a sad but af¬ 
fectionate smile. 

Howard’s expression showed disappointment 
as he stood silently thinking and wondering in his 
young mind how serious it might be. 

“If Judge Howell is appointed, I can do so 
much through him,” suggested Stanley. 

“I shall leave that with you, Stanley,” said 
Howard, seriously; and then turned to the Judge 
and asked him if he would act in that capacity. 

Judge Howell answered in the affirmative. He 
was as kind-hearted as kindly looking and had 
been in the camp ever since it was “staked out,” 
and he knew much of the odd dealings of Anthony 
Dunlap, Jr., and of the doings of Jack Harvey 
and the Jew, Kovinsky. He was an attorney of 
good standing among honorable people, and in 


Two Coils of Rope 


63 


his work had uncovered many unusual dealings 
and, therefore, was not over-popular with the 
“gang” or those out for “graft,” as so many were 
in those days. He had long known of Howard’s 
existence, and that fact alone softened his heart 
towards the boy and spurred him on to a greater 
desire to help protect, not only his body from the 
treachery of paid assassins, but his financial in¬ 
terest. He was fearless in the courts but was 
handicapped by the power of wealth to corrupt. 

“Howard, there will be some papers to sign 
before you go,” he said and the boy was puzzled 
at his words. “I will go to my office to return in 
about two hours with a notary to witness your 
signature. It will be merely a request for my 
appointment. Mr. Weyman will tell you of the 
plans we have made for you, taking it for granted 
you will do as we think best.” 

He then passed out of the rooms and hurried 
to his office for he wanted to look up some opin¬ 
ions. 

“There may be a will,” said Stanley, as the 
door closed behind the Judge. “We must be 
prepared for any emergency.” 

“Stanley, it does not seem right to talk of these 
things before my father’s body is buried. Let us 
wait until we return from the funeral.” 

Stanley did not reply at once for he knew 


64 


Sulphur Fumes 


what he must say would be distressing to the boy 
and he wondered if he would understand. “He is 
too young for such tragedy,” he sadly mused, but 
did not speak. He was a man with a wonderful 
supply of substantial qualities and for anyone he 
was interested in he considered a sacrifice a plea¬ 
sure rather than a duty. With him the word “de¬ 
tective” did not carry a stigma. “I have the gift,” 
he often argued with himself, “to solve unusual 
problems and the world needs such work done—so 
why not me ?” With him there were no dishonor¬ 
able methods practiced to obtain information and 
his sympathy towards all was conducive to making 
life richer. His nature was as tender as a 
woman’s and he was too refined for the world’s 
coarser uses. He often shuddered when extreme 
cases were brought to his notice, but always met 
them with great fortitude. “It is my duty,” he 
often said as he took up a heavy burden. He 
knew a great injustice to Howard was being done 
by unscrupulous people and he wished to help him. 

“Howard,” he began, slowly, “Judge Howell 
and I have decided it would not be wise for 
you to attend your father’s funeral or let people 
know you are still in camp.” He watched the 
boy’s expression change as he continued: “Life is 
held cheaply here, and it would be a great satis¬ 
faction to some to have you done away with. 


Two Coils of Rope 


65 


Mind you,” he said, as his brow wrinkled, “they 
would not do it themselves, but the hired assassin 
is kept busy, and we often read of a sudden 
death.” 

“That would be cowardly on my part,” said 
Howard, with much spirit, as he turned to the 
window. He was about to pull the netting aside 
when Stanley quickly cautioned him. 

“Do not expose yourself to the view of passers- 
by,” Stanley said. He explained to the boy many 
things the young mind could hardly believe possi¬ 
ble. “Through these grimy curtains, you and I 
will witness the unusual funeral procession. Here 
in this camp they border on the spectacular and 
your father will be given a great send-off,” and 
as he spoke he wondered where the destination of 
the old man’s soul would be. 

“A year or so ago, your father had you driven 
out of camp and those who did it were Jack Har¬ 
vey and Kovinsky, were they not?” asked Stanley, 
giving the question directly. His voice changed 
to the severe. 

“Yes,” answered Howard, and his expression 
seemed also to change almost to bitterness. 
Stanley was glad to see it for he knew that with 
a thorough understanding of the treachery in the 
camp it would be easier to influence the boy to 
co-operate with Judge Howell and himself. 


66 


Sulphur Fumes 


“Why should you feel any duty towards that 
man?” he said, coldly and deliberately. 

“I know, Stanley,” Howard’s lips quivered as 
he hesitated, “with most people in my position his 
memory would instil hatred, but it does not with 
me. I have always longed for the affection and 
companionship a father could give, and that is 
what brought me here this time. The last day 
of the journey my heart beat fast, for I felt that 
I was soon to meet my father and in a way I for¬ 
got the former experience.” 

“The boy has the right material in him,” 
thought Stanley, as he sat quietly listening. 

“Can I go and see him late, tonight, when there 
is nobody around?” 

“Howard, there will always be someone around. 
On my way to Judge Howell’s office I stopped at 
the undertaker’s and there was a great crowd 
there; and from the beautiful stories told by many, 
one would be led to believe that a great philan¬ 
thropist had passed away.” 

He then told how on the morrow a minister 
would be paid to offer up a prayer for the repose 
of the soul of the departed one, and give an elo¬ 
quent laudation; and how tears would flow when 
the paid quartette rendered: “Abide with Me.” 
His words had the desired effect, for the boy’s 
voice was deliberate when he spoke. 


Two Coils of Rope 


67 


“Stanley, I guess you are right,” he said. 

“Our plan is not to have you leave this part of 
the country, but to go on a ranch I have in mind. 
It is a large stock ranch owned by friends of mine 
who will be glad to have you with them. For the 
present, we wish you to change your name—sup¬ 
pose we call you ‘Howard Stillman.’ I shall see 
you often and you will be fully advised as to the 
progress of matters here. My going to the ranch 
will mean nothing to the people here for I often 
go for a week or so for a little outing, but we 
must not be seen leaving here together, or be 
seen leaving at all, if that is possible. Evenings, 
on the ranch, you can keep up your studies and 
during the day ride the range.” 

He smiled and put his arm around Howard’s 
shoulders, and continued, “You’ll be a regular 
cowboy. I would rather think of you on a ranch, 
with good people, than here in this garden of 
hell where the seeds of corruption are sown and 
kept well cultivated”; and he likened the boy unto 
a developing bud and, in a fascinating way, pic¬ 
tured life as he would like to see it. “But,” he 
hesitated a moment before continuing, “in these 
days we must not go so far into the garden of 
bloom as to make a brilliant failure of things 
material.” 

He told him in moulding his manhood to keep 



68 


Sulphur Fumes 


each petal as it opened free from blight, and in 
so doing he would develop a beautiful flower; and, 
in his quiet way, told him how hope, the love of 
country and respect of home riveted society; and 
how the quickest way to the brain was through 
the eye—“so live as much in the beautiful as you 
can.” He hesitated a few moments and sat watch¬ 
ing the listener, whose eyes were dimmed with 
tears. 

“I know you are sad today—pain of the heart 
is often the shadow of our sunshine, and some 
days the shadows seem, oh, so dense, but there is 
always a light ahead.” And he told of the sweet 
hours of solitude he often spent in the mountains. 
“I love the solitary thoughts that come to me while 
I lie on my bed of balsam branches, tracing pic¬ 
tures in the clouds and watching the silent stars 
and the silver moon go by.” 

He was a man with the true vision of beauty in 
thought, and he knew there was a reason for un¬ 
pleasant things; and he saw the beauty in truth 
that comes through avenues of pleasures and sor¬ 
rows. 

His motto was: “Anything in this life that 
ought to be done is doable.” 


Chapter VI 

Control of the Dunlap Corporation 

I T WAS THE NIGHT before the funeral of 
Anthony Dunlap, Sr., and close to the hour of 
midnight, when Jack Harvey stealthily passed 
down an alley and entered a door that led to the 
offices of the Dunlap Corporation. The building 
he entered was used for offices and housekeeping 
apartments, and garbage cans, trunks and pieces 
of unused furniture were here and there in the 
dimly lighted hall. 

He had gone but a few steps in the unkept pas¬ 
sageway when he stopped suddenly and crouched 
behind an empty barrel and, almost breathless, 
watched the door to the private office of the cor¬ 
poration open and Dunlap’s nephew come quietly 
out. After nervously locking the door behind 
him, with quick step the nephew hurried down the 
hall and out into the street. Before Harvey had 
time to rise from this uncomfortable posture, a 
“drunk” came reeling along the hall and stopped 
close to the barrel behind which he was in hiding. 

While the intoxicated man was searching in 
his pockets for his key, the door leading into the 


70 


Sulphur Fumes 


room in front of which he stood opened and a 
feminine voice said in much anger, “Whar ye 
been ?” 

“A sittin’ up with the old man,” he slowly 
answered, for his tongue was dry and thick and 
he could hardly articulate. “Maggie, it was sad,” 
he mumbled between hiccups, “so it was to see 
Adolph Kovinsky a-sittin’ by the ‘Gates Ajar’ he 
brought in while I was there, an 1 put it at the head 
of the coffin. It took two men to carry it, an’ he 
said it was made on the same frame Larry Du¬ 
gan’s was made on, an’ I asked him to save the 
frame so I could use it for you; it’s so nice and 
large it would be ‘swell.’ ” 

It was the drunkard’s desire to please that 
threw Maggie into a rage. 

“I suppose you would like to git rid of me,” 
she said bitterly, as she took him by the collar of 
his coat and pulled him into the room. 

After the noise of the slamming door died 
away, Jack hurried to the offices of the Dunlap 
Corporation. He did not light a gas-jet, for he 
had under his coat a small light such as watch¬ 
men use and can darken in an instant. 

After seeing that the shades to the windows 
were well pulled down, he examined the contents 
of drawers in the desks that were in the room. In 
one he found several notes drawing interest at a 


Control of the Dunlap Corporation 71 

rate of five per cent a month, and a pathetic letter 
from a widow asking for an extension of time to 
meet the payment of interest on a note. He knew 
the combination to the vault, for he was vice- 
president of the corporation, and soon the heavy 
doors swung open. His hands trembled as he 
took from one of the shelves a tin box and carried 
it out to a desk and then took from his pocket the 
bunch of keys he had removed from underneath 
the dying man’s pillow. He nervously looked 
around and again went to the windows and pinned 
the shades close to the sash so there would be no 
risk of a prowler peeking through a crack at the 
side of a shade or at the bottom, anci then again 
tried the door to be sure it was locked. 

“Guess, I’m safe,” he said to himself as he put 
the key to the door in his pocket and carefully 
drew a chair close to the desk. 

In the dim light of the small lantern the room 
seemed ghostly, and he wiped the perspiration 
from his forehead before opening the box which 
he knew contained the dead man’s private papers. 

While selecting a particular key from the many 
on the ring, he heard footsteps in the hall. He 
stopped to listen, and in a second his breath al¬ 
most left his body for a key was being inserted 
in the lock of the door. As quick as thought, 
he extinguished the light and, with the box in his 


72 


Sulphur Fumes 


hands, noiselessly crawled underneath the wide 
top desk. From where he had taken refuge he 
could see the nephew as he came in and lighted a 
gas-jet near the door. “Good!” he said, ner¬ 
vously to himself, “that leaves me in a deep 
shadow.” 

The nephew quietly walked around the room 
mumbling to himself, looking now in one drawer 
and then in another, and when he came to the desk 
(underneath which Harvey was hidden) he sat 
down in the chair which the crouching man had 
just left. 

“I wonder where the keys are,” the nephew 
murmured, as he laid his head on his arms which 
rested on the desk. But it Avas only for a moment, 
for he quickly rose to a sitting posture and turned 
his head as if listening. “I thought I heard some¬ 
one breathing,” he said half aloud. As Harvey 
heard the words a nervous chill passed through 
his body. 

“There’ll be hell to pay if he finds me here,” 
he mused, and with the thought he tried to move 
further back, but there was no more room, for 
his body was already pressed close to the wall. 

Harvey’s nerves were alert and his sense of 
hearing acute. He heard a voice whisper: “If 
there’s no will, I’m done for; my father would 
be the heir—unless. . .” 


Control of the Dunlap Corporation 73 

Harvey knew what that last word meant and 
smiled a wicked smile. The nephew stealthily 
went to another desk and searched the top drawer. 

“I wonder where his keys are,” he said half 
aloud as he stood looking over the contents, “they 
are not at the house, for I have been through 
everything there.” 

He stood for a few moments tapping the top 
of the desk with his nervous fingers and then 
closed the drawer and went back to the door he 
had carefully closed when he entered, extinguished 
the light and again passed out into the unkept 
hall. 

“A close call,” said Harvey, as he crawled 
from his hiding place and stretched himself to 
ease the pains his cramped position produced. 

Soon the much-battered tin box was opened and 
a block of stock, representing the controlling 
interest in the Dunlap Corporation, was in the 
inside pocket of his coat. A wicked smile passed 
over his face as he held up a sealed envelope. 

“A will, I guess,” he mused, and laid it back 
in the box and again opened the heavy door of 
the vault and put the box back on the shelf where 
he had found it; then, turning, left the vault with 
mingled thoughts, and softly tiptoed to the closed 
door of the room, and again, as stealthily as he 
came through, passed out into the hall where he 


74 


Sulphur Fumes 


stood for a moment in indecision. While his 
thoughts were wandering, he unconsciously felt 
in his pocket; then buttoned the time-worn coat 
and quickly left the building. Again he stopped 
on the board walk, looked up and down the un¬ 
attractive street, put his trembling hand to the 
pocket where he had put the stock and then hur¬ 
ried down the hill in the direction of his own 
home. 


Chapter VII 

A Weird Funeral Procession 


B ehind curtains soiled by sulphur 

fumes and soot, Howard and Stanley sat 
silently looking down upon the street where 
anxious people were gathering on the edge of the 
sidewalk. They could not see many yards up 
or down the thoroughfare, for smoke came from 
the valley in fog-like whorls and soot floated 
through the air as gently as flakes of falling snow, 
and, as the morning lengthened, the darkness in¬ 
creased and mysticism seemed to permeate the 
air. The crowd thickly gathered until some were 
compelled to stand in the street in order to gain 
a vantage point. 

The hour set for the funeral of the recluse 
was at hand and services were being held in his 
little home on the side of the gulch and across 
from the stamp mill where the constant grind of 
ore lulled him to his last sleep. There was not 
room in the little home for many, so the vast 
throng gathered in the street where the procession 
was to pass. 

Stanley had bought a copy of the morning paper 


76 


Sulphur Fumes 


and brought it to his room for Howard to read. 
It gave a lengthy account of his father’s death 
and, among other things, stated that the philan¬ 
thropist passed away surrounded by loving friends. 
As Howard read the article, Stanley watched his 
upper lip curl, but no word of sarcasm came. Flis 
boyish eyes met those of his friend as he, without 
comment, laid the paper aside. Stanley noticed 
the great change a few hours had made and 
realized he had a young man as companion, 
instead of the boy he had put his arms about the 
night before—and he was satisfied. 

They were both silent as they sat watching 
the crowd in the street push forward. It was a 
phantom throng, for only outlines of fumes could 
be seen. The heavy notes of a funeral dirge 
came to where they sat, and soon the mystic forms 
of two torch-bearers appeared carrying flambeaux 
to light the way through the clouds of smoke. To 
Stanley, it was like the story of Dante’s Inferno, 
but the mystic lights and shrouded notes of the 
musicians were weird to Howard, and he trembled 
like one in the throes of a chill. Stanley noticed, 
and moved his chair closer and put his arm 
around the boy’s shoulder and affectionately drew 
him close to his warm body. This gave the boy 
strength to pass through the trying ordeal. 

“Stanley, it’s a tragic position to be placed in,” 



A Weird Funeral Procession 77 

he said, and again leaned forward, for shadow 
forms of the four horses drawing the hearse came 
into sight. It was weird and spectacular in the 
extreme. Early day funerals in the far western 
mining camps were usually the signal for a lavish 
display, especially if the deceased had made a 
strike. The sulphur fumes gave this one a mysti¬ 
cism that was demoniacal, and Howard’s eyes 
opened wide as he looked on. In a few moments 
he had lost all feelings of bereavement, and now 
leaned forward—an interested onlooker. 

The man who lay dead was his father who had 
driven him from his door, and he felt that the 
Jew, Kovinsky, had supplanted him—if such could 
be the case. 

“Why not?” he mused, as he looked on. “My 
father’s god was money,” and he had been told 
his prey were unsophisticated girls and artless 
women. So, why harbor a love, he thought, for 
a man who had brought him into the world where 
he must face and suffer the stigma of one born 
out of wedlock. 

Stanley, in his quiet way, silently watched the 
change that every passing moment brought to the 
honest face, and it was a change he was glad to 
see come to supplant the innocence of a few hours 
before. 

“It is strength,” he said to himself, “and that 



78 


Sulphur Fumes 


is what the boy should have to fight the battle 
that must, in the course of events, come to him.” 

Stanley’s nature was as lovable as that of a 
sweet woman, but he was worldly enough to know 
his calling required of him to do worldly things 
and to know life in its fullest, and with these 
requirements, he was an ideal man for Howard 
to fall in with. He knew people and conditions. 
He loved the vast expanse of the mighty plains 
and the grandeur of the towering mountains. He 
was a man with the true vision of beauty that is 
everywhere and he knew that there was a reason 
for unpleasant things and he saw the beauty in 
truth that comes through avenues of pleasure, 
sorrow and crime and he often said to those who 
were near to him: “Music is the purest form of 
art and each tone that comt. from the voice or 
vibrates from an instrument’s string is an expres¬ 
sion of beauty.” 

A slight breeze came to where they sat and 
lifted part of the fumes, and many of the forms 
that a moment before were in the mystic were 
now taking on reality. The four white horses, 
covered with black chenille nets which came close 
to the ground, seemed to feel the importance of 
their position, for they nodded their heads with 
every step, and the long, black plumes, fastened 
at the side of their bridles, waved and swayed 


A Weird Funeral Procession 79 

with a rhythm like that of dancers in a stately 
minuet. 

A man with a dampened sponge over his mouth 
and nose and carrying a lighted torch in his hand 
walked beside each prancing horse. 

“What a travesty on life,” thought Stanley, as 
the gold and black hearse came into view, for on 
the top of the gaudy dead-wagon stood a golden 
angel with trumpet in hand and on the side of the 
hearse that faced the window where they sat was 
a statue depicting Saint Francis holding in his 
arms a lamb with a broken leg. 

Stanley noticed Howard scowl and smilingly 
said: “On the other side is the Virgin Mary hold¬ 
ing the Christ child in her arms.” 

“He was not a Ca f1 ^ he,” said Howard, quickly, 
and with much surprise. 

Stanley smiled again and said: “No, the hearse 
is used for the Jew, Christian and heathen alike.” 

In a carriage following the hearse sat Jack 
Harvey and Anthony Dunlap. Harvey’s clair¬ 
voyant eyes were partly shaded by the turned 
down brim of a much worn hat. His large 
solitaire diamond stud that was screwed into the 
bosom of his grey flannel shirt shone like the 
headlight of an engine, and if one could have 
looked into the inside pocket of his coat, stock 
certificates would have been seen that represented 


80 


Sulphur Fumes 


the controlling interest in the Dunlap Corporation. 

Beside him on a cushion filled with dried wild 
grass sat Anthony Dunlap, Jr. He was under¬ 
sized and extremely sensitive of the fact; he was 
not a fully developed man physically; so it was 
arranged that he be raised in his seat so that the 
towering body of Harvey could not exaggerate 
his diminutive form. 

In the carriage following came Kovinsky. He 
was alone in the vehicle with the top thrown back 
and over that a showy robe was placed. On the 
seat in front of him was the immense floral piece, 
“Gates Ajar,” he had taken to the undertakers 
the night before. It was made of desert cactus 
blossom and was the length of the seat upon which 
he had proudly placed it. 

In the throng of onlookers there were many 
eyes that twinkled and a “wag” laughingly said : 

“Money ist no objections ven ve sees more 
aheat.” 

When the hearse again passed into the shadows 
Stanley turned to Howard. “It will be wise for me 
to be seen in the procession—and alone,” he said, 
pleasantly, as he patted the boy on the shoulder. 
“I have arranged to have a carriage wait for me 
near here and I shall fall into line a few blocks 
behind the chief mourners.” 

When he closed the door behind him, Howard 


A Weird Funeral Procession 81 

remembered the sarcasm in his voice. He had 
cautioned the boy about locking the door after he 
had passed out. 

“You will be safe,” he had said, “if you do not 
pull the curtains aside.” 

Later on as Howard sat behind the soiled cur¬ 
tains he saw a face turn towards the little hotel 
and two friendly eyes glance up to the window 
where he sat, and as Stanley passed, his heart 
ached for the lonely boy who he knew was look¬ 
ing down at him. 

The cortege slowly wended its way down the 
mountainside to the little cemetery in the desolate 
valley where the jack-rabbit hid in the shadows 
of sage-brush, where the smoke of the Indian 
tepee was seen near corrals, where cattle and 
sheep waited the coming of the executioner; and 
as it turned into the little “City of the Dead” Stan¬ 
ley shuddered at the sight of wooden crosses and 
board markers that told the names and age of 
those sleeping underneath mounds over which 
tansy weed grew and a weed called “Liveforever.” 
Some graves were unmarked mounds of decom¬ 
posed granite. 


Chapter VIII 
D own a Rope Ladder 


A FTER THE BOARD that marked the 
spot where Anthony Dunlap, Sr.’s, body 
k was laid to rest had been placed in posi¬ 
tion and the throng was turning away from the 
mound of decomposed granite, Stanley walked to 
the further side of the enclosure to a plat that 
had been set aside as a burial place for Chinese 
and when there, stood by, an interested spectator, 
while the service of boiling bodies was being 
held, for at stated times the bodies of the dead 
that have been buried for a certain length of time 
are taken from the grave and boiled in large iron 
kettles—not unlike those used in frying out fats to 
make soft soap, or those seen on the shores of the 
far North where whale-blubber is being put 
through the same process. The bodies are boiled 
so as to remove any flesh that might remain on 
the bones. 

He watched them pack cleansed bones in small 
boxes preparatory for shipment to China, for they 
are taught a Chinaman’s soul can not enter the 
Kingdom of Heaven unless his bones rest in 



Down a Rope Ladder 


83 


China. Not far from where the bones were being 
packed, others were cooking choice delicacies to 
feed the spirit on its journey. 

After watching them for some time he went to 
where his carriage stood and, when he was com¬ 
fortably seated, the driver turned his horses into 
a road that led past charcoal pits resembling the 
tomb of Rachel that stands beside a road in far¬ 
away Palestine, and on past “stink-piles” where 
sulphur fumes rose in vitriol-like columns and 
spread into mauve clouds as they settled over 
the camp. 

About half-way up the hill he stopped at a 
stable and engaged two of their best saddle horses, 
saying to the proprietor of the place: 

“Give me good saddles and roomy saddle-bags 
for I have much to put in them. A little later 
I shall send the things down.” When he finished 
giving instructions he left the place hurriedly and 
was soon back at the little hotel and in the room 
where Howard sat quietly waiting his coming. 

“I am glad it is over,” were his first words as 
his eyes met the inquiring expression that en¬ 
veloped the boy’s face. “Just let me rest a 
moment,” he said, “and then we will outline our 
plans of a ‘get-away.’ ” 

He smiled and his eyes traveled to where two 
coils of rope lay half hidden on the floor and 


84 Sulphur Fumes 

Howard wondered as he saw the smile change to 
seriousness. 

“Oh, well,” said Stanley, “let’s get down to 
business. I can rest after awhile.” He drew his 
chair closer to the one Howard had taken. “What 
a change a few hours have wrought,” he mused, 
as he silently sat watching the boy, “and I believe 
he is even more handsome in the seriousness of 
manhood.” 

“If another breeze does not rise, the night will 
be still heavier with smoke,” he said, wishing to 
encourage the boy to talk, but he was not success¬ 
ful and turned his conversation direct to the most 
serious matters in hand. 

“Howard,” he said abruptly, “we must plan 
for your going away. You have given Judge 
Howell your power-of-attorney, — that is, I 
should say,” and he hesitated a moment before 
continuing, “request for his appointment as your 
guardian. The power-of-attorney will come 
later on, so do not worry about anything.” His 
words carried assurance to the boy's heart and it 
showed in his confiding expression. 

“Do you think you can stand the long journey 
on horseback?'’ 

The boy’s answer, “Yes,” pleased him and he 
was still more pleased when Howard, with face 
wreathed in smiles, continued, and for the first 


Down a Rope Ladder 


85 


time since he had known him was talkative almost 
to the point of joviality. He was glad to see it 
and to know the boy’s mind was far away from 
the sadness of former hours. 

“I have lived in the saddle much of my life,” 
he said, and then told of having worked on plan¬ 
tations for his board. “The first time I came west 
I worked from ranch to ranch to pay my way. I 
don’t want to brag,” he laughed, “but I think 
I am a pretty good ‘cow-puncher.’ ” 

“Good,” interrupted Stanley. “Sunrise will be 
just the place for you and I feel you will be happy 
there; and one thing above all others, you will be 
able to continue your studies, for I know the 
district school teacher boards there and I also 
know she will be glad to instruct you evenings. 
Now,” continued Stanley pleasantly, as he walked 
across the room to where the coils of rope lay, 
“you can help me prepare for your escape,” he 
laughed. “You know, you are to climb down a 
rope-ladder in a true dime-novel fashion, and 
helping to make the ladder gives a touch of 
romance to the escape.” 

A twinkle came to Howard’s eyes and his ex¬ 
pression was mischievous as he spoke : 

“When I first saw the coils I thought my day 
had come.” 


86 


Sulphur Fumes 


“Seriously,” Stanley laughed again heartily, 
“were you frightened?” 

“I admit I was a little nervous,” he answered, 
with a timid laugh and his face crimsoned. “1 
had read so much of the wild doings in the far 
West I thought perhaps I had fallen into the 
hands of road-agents and was either to be kid¬ 
napped or lynched,” and he continued to talk in 
a pleasant vein with boyish enthusiasm, while 
assisting Stanley with the ladder. 

“You will climb down this and land on the 
back of a waiting ‘cayuse,’ ” he said, as he handed 
him one end of the rope and asked him to walk 
to the farther end of the room and to hold tight 
while he cut what he thought would be the right 
length. 

Before night closed in, the rope ladder was a 
reality and one end fastened securely to the 
heavy screw hooks which Stanley had placed in 
position by a window that looked out on a private 
alley between the hotel and another building that 
was usually dark and quiet. The door was pro¬ 
tected by a green trellis where people entering 
were protected from inquiring eyes. 

“I will have some sandwiches made for our eve¬ 
ning meal, for we must not stop until we are far 
away from the camp, and like the Indians, we can 
drink cool, clear water from the mountain streams, 


Down a Rope Ladder 


87 


and, if all goes well,” he smiled, u we can have 
some coffee in the morning. I shall have the sad¬ 
dle-bags well stocked and I guess we can get a 
little sleep while the horses feed.” 

He assisted Howard in rolling his belongings 
in a way that would be easy to fasten to the back 
of his saddle and then turned to leave the room. 

“It will be quite dark,” he said, in an undertone 
as he partly opened the door, “by the time I 
return.” 

He closed the door again and turning back 
spoke quickly: “Sit close to the window, so that 
you can hear me when I come with the horses, for 
I cannot risk speaking or whistling,” and he care¬ 
fully placed the rope ladder in position for 
Howard to lower. 

“But what will the hotel people think when 
they find you gone and a rope ladder hanging 
from your window?” 

“That burglars have been in,” he laughed, and 
then told Howard to be sure, just before starting, 
to unlock the door and put the key in his pocket. 
“They will, of course, think the room has been 
entered.” 

With an assuring pat on the boy’s shoulder he 
again opened the door and hurried down the 
stairs and, unobserved by those in the little office, 
passed quickly through and hurried to the stable 


88 


Sulphur Fumes 


where his horses stood, saddled and bridled, ready 
for the start. Fie did not stop to speak to those 
idly hanging around the livery but quickly ar¬ 
ranged the things he had sent down in the saddle¬ 
bags and after that was done he mounted the horse 
he had selected for himself and, leading the other 
by part of the lariat he had run through the bit¬ 
ring of the bridle, rode direct to the alley and 
under the window where Howard sat almost 
breathless while waiting his coming. When the 
boy heard the quiet tread of the horses’ hoofs he 
leaned far out over the windowsill and waved to 
Stanley, who in turn beckoned to him to come. 

The ladder was carefully lowered and a voice 
soft and low, like a whisper, said: 

“Now, you young ‘Tenderfoot,’ try climbing 
down a rope ladder.” 

Howard was too excited to speak but quickly 
lowered the rope and was soon seated on the back 
of a prancing “cayuse.” The animal had stood 
directly under the window and Howard’s descent 
frightened him, for the boy’s foot slipped now 
and then and he hesitated while finding a footing 
and when he reached the saddle the horse was 
standing on his two hind feet and Stanley was 
having trouble managing his “buckskin.” “Buck¬ 
skin” is the name given to horses of the buckskin 
color with a black stripe down their back and a 


Down a Rope Ladder 


89 


black mane and tail, and “cayuse” is a name the 
frontiersmen gave a small stocky horse, a peculiar 
breed the Cayuse Indians used in the more rugged 
country. These were lithe of foot and well fitted 
for the rough mountain trails. 


Chapter IX 

They Rode Through the Night 


D O NOT SPEAK,” whispered Stanley, as 
a door behind the lattice opened and a 
woman’s voice called: “Is that you, 
Hank?” The place was a combination saloon, 
gambling-house and dance-hall, and she was one 
of the entertainers. The noise made by the 
prancing horses attracted her attention and she 
came to the door to welcome Hank, who usually 
came in through the alley. No response coming 
to her call, she turned back and closed the door 
behind her. 

“So far, so good,” said Stanley. “Now keep 
your horse close to mine,” and they slowly rode 
along until they came to a street over which it 
was necessary for them to travel for one block. 
Stanley was nervous about this thoroughfare, 
for it was lined with gorgeous gambling-houses 
and was a rendezvous for the people who flirt 
with fickle fortune, and where rude professionals 
and rough, hard desperadoes bow to the Goddess 
of Chance, and hardly a night passed but Jack 
Harvey and Kovinsky were to be seen there. 


They Rode Through the Night 91 

Harvey was a weather-beaten gambler and 
Kovinsky was an extensive property owner in the 
underworld and each night made the rounds of 
little “cribs” where unfortunates lived and solicited 
from doors and windows of little one-room hovels 
he owned and rented to them for one dollar a 
night; and he collected the rent himself and was 
a familiar figure as he passed along the streets, 
swinging his stick and emitting a hissing sound of 
satisfaction through his teeth. 

“Stay behind in the shadow,” said Stanley, 
“while I ride out and reconnoitre.” 

He stealthily passed from sight, but soon re¬ 
turned. “It’s safe,” he said, and they rode on, 
leaving the alley and turning into a street where 
the blare of the hurdy-gurdy was accompanied by 
the rat-a-tat-tat of the roulette wheel and high- 
pitched voices of lewd women and click of poker- 
chips. 

Howard w r as meditative and silent as they 
rode on. He could hear the sounds but saw only 
mystic forms through the sulphur fumes. Now 
and then Stanley would recognize someone who 
came near to where they rode and would quietly 
turn his horse aside and Howard would move 
close to his side. It was a convenient thorough¬ 
fare to take, and he was anxious to get away from 
the camp and idlers’ eyes. Many out of harmony 


92 


Sulphur Fumes 


with life flocked to this section where many more 
who toiled by day spent their nights in roistering, 
throwing away the rich gains of sunlight hours. 
The dissipation showed plainly in their hardened 
faces and lack-luster eyes. Here were some who 
had chased rainbows with mythical strikes ahead 
until they became disheartened and returned to the 
camp and, like many others whose mental condi¬ 
tions were topsy-turvy, drifted to the shadows 
where “brace faro” games “rang in cold decks,” 
and cogged dice were not uncommon. 

Silently they turned into another street where 
the fumes were not so dense, and there were many 
more lights and much louder laughter, where the 
riffraff and hangers-on from other resorts came 
for the purpose of robbing drunken miners, often, 
under the protection of darkness, sallying forth 
to rob sluices; where “fiends” called “snow-birds” 
sniffed a white powder from the back of the hand, 
and others nibbled at narcotic impregnated wafers, 
and where the smell of the opium pipe blended 
with sulphur fumes. 

Stanley noticed Howard’s eyes shine in wonder¬ 
ment. He moved his horse closer and said in an 
undertone: 

“We are now passing through a weedy path in 
the ‘Garden of Hell,’ ” and as he spoke he thought 
of the many boys of Howard’s age whose lives 


They Rode Through the Night 93 

had been ruined in this path, where vipers hide in 
the tangled weeds and living meshes of bright 
lights and suave words of abandoned women who 
had been imported from the slums of Eastern cities. 

He quickly reined in and again spoke in a voice 
hardly above a whisper: 

“Pull your hat down over your eyes and ride on 
alone! I will overtake you. Keep straight ahead 
on this street, but ride slowly!” 

He had caught a glimpse of Kovinsky, making 
his rounds collecting rents from the unfortunates 
and, as he watched him, he thought of Old Shy- 
lock and the bitter pound of flesh. “Like a 
despicable bird of prey,” he mused as he watched 
him stop at different doors, “prospering and thriv¬ 
ing on the passions of mankind.” He wished 
Kovinsky might see him—and see him alone. 

Elis wish was soon granted, for Kovinsky came 
near to where his horse was standing and, as if 
drawn by a magnet, turned to where Stanley sat 
quietly watching him. The Jew recognized the 
detective and at first showed signs of embarrass¬ 
ment, but he quickly regained his composure and 
came close to the horse. 

“How is the mine?” he asked, but Stanley 
knew that was not what he wanted to know. 
However, he answered, pleasantly: 

“It looks as if we would strike it soon. Got 


94 


Sulphur Fumes 


some pretty good stringers,” he continued, and 
made a move as if to ride on. Kovinsky came 
even closer and asked him about Howard and 
where he was. He seemed to forget all about 
the unpleasantness of the night he first met the 
boy, or else he was feigning a nonchalant attitude 
to deceive. He did not mention a name but merely 
said, “the boy.” 

“The last time I saw him,” answered Stanley, 
“he was leaving the camp.” 

The answer seemed to please Kovinsky, for he 
smiled triumphantly and said he thought they had 
seen the last of him and, as he continued, he told 
many things that were irrelevant and seemed to 
want to prolong the conversation, and among 
other things told him Howard was an impostor 
and how he had tried to blackmail the old man. 

Stanley smiled to himself and bade him good¬ 
night and rode on and overtook Howard as he 
was passing out of the cloudy garden where vulgar 
sensuality was a poor imitation of the tenderness 
of passion, the greatest emotion God gives to the 
inhabitants of the world, whether they be humans 
or others. 

Howard’s thoughts were running riot when 
Stanley caught up with him for he did not under¬ 
stand and Stanley did not explain, but rode on in 


They Rode Through the Night 95 

silence until they reached the valley and the 
pungent odor of sage-brush. In an hour’s time 
they were where the hill shadows bathe, and 
chaparral shrouds rippling waters that sparkle and 
sing while seeking the valley below. The moon 
shone bright on the waxy leaves of the wind-kissed 
trees and lighted the secluded path chosen, for 
Stanley wished to avoid the highways. They fol¬ 
lowed an Indian trail that led across slide-rock 
and through aisles of pine where solitude was 
undisturbed by man, and the frosty breath of air 
and tumbling waters of the canyon sent the blood 
rioting through their veins. 

It was midnight when they reined in on the 
summit of the range that divides the Atlantic 
from the Pacific slope and is called the continental 
divide. In the bright moonsweep the snow-capped 
highlands that lay to the right sparkled like 
jeweled diadems, and the deep purple shadows 
completed the royal picture. 

During the hours of travel when the horses 
walked in single file Howard had been meditative, 
and Stanley thought it best not to rouse him. The 
brilliant picture before them brought him out of 
the retrospective mood and he exclaimed with joy, 
and when he looked out to where the sky never 
ends, he said to Stanley: 

“I feel I’m among the big things.” But his 


96 


Sulphur Fumes 


companion seemed not to hear from where he 
sat on his quiet horse, whose ears were pricked 
forward as he watched with dilated eyes a small 
coil of smoke that rose in the distance. Stanley, 
too, saw the smoke rising and was disturbed, for 
he knew the Indians in that section were not 
friendly. 

He quickly dismounted and, turning to Howard, 
said: 

“You sit where you are. There are Indians 
about/’ As he spoke he pointed to where smoke 
was rising from wigwams. “We must muzzle our 
horses,” he said, “for their whinny might tell 
them of our whereabouts. They may have 
tethered their horses on the edge of their camp 
and they often call to each other from a great 
distance, and a call might be very disastrous just 
at this time.” 

After tying gunny-sacks over the nostrils of 
each horse, they cautiously rode on, and when the 
morning star began to dim they stopped near an 
hiatus in the towering mountains. 

“This is a protected spot to rest and feed the 
horses,” said Stanley, as he rode nearer the mouth 
of the wide break in the mountains. 

Howard wondered, when he saw him light 
several matches one at a time and hold them high 
in front of him, but did not comment. “There 


They Rode Through the Night 97 

must be a good reason for it,” he thought. Dur¬ 
ing the night and the long hours they followed 
the trail he had decided in his young mind to 
place himself absolutely in Stanley’s care, so when 
Stanley said, “It is all right,” and whirled one leg 
over the back of the saddle and jumped to the 
ground, he did likewise and went to work un¬ 
cinching the saddle. He carefully untied the roll 
of bedding and, with the saddle-bags, laid it near 
a towering pine tree. 

Stanley looked around for a protected spot to 
make a bed for Howard. “It’s too much work to 
gather balsam boughs,” he said to himself, and 
spread both saddle-blankets on the ground in the 
spot he had selected just at the mouth of the 
narrow canyon, where the music of a distant 
cataract could be heard. 

“Don’t give them both to me,” said Howard, 
thoughtfully. “What will you lie on ?” 

“I will let you have the first sleep,” said Stanley. 
“I want to unmuzzle the horses and give them 
some water and watch them while they feed.” 

He laughed when he saw the boy place his 
saddle in position where he might use it for a 
pillow. “A true ‘cow-puncher,’ ” he said, affec¬ 
tionately, as he watched Howard roll his blanket 
around his body and lie down on the comfortable 
saddle-pads. 


98 


Sulphur Fumes 


It was not long before his eyelids grew heavy 
and soon the handsome face that lay on the saddle 
turned and his body snuggled down in the blanket 
and Stanley knew he was in slumberland. He then 
hobbled both horses and, after that task was 
finished, reconnoitered; but soon returned to 
where the boy slept, for he had seen bear signs. 
“There is no danger,” he mused, “unless it might 
be a mother with cubs. I’ll not take a chance,” he 
said, half aloud, as he spread the gunny-sacks they 
had used for muzzling the horses on the ground 
close to where Howard slept and, with his gun 
near at hand, began his silent vigil. His thoughts 
were many and mingled and now and then he 
would lean close to the sleeping boy. “Some¬ 
times life seems mighty cruel,” he often mused, 
“but it only seems so.” 


Chapter X 


A New Day 


D AWN CAME and brought with it a new 
day for Howard who lay peacefully sleep¬ 
ing out among the birds and wild flowers 
w he re we learn the calmer way. Flowers spangled 
the rookeries, and ferns shaded waters that mur¬ 
mured and sang with a lullaby sound as they 
passed close to where he slept in the shadow of a 
stately pine. 

When the first golden tints of the rising sun 
came and gilded the mountain peaks, Stanley left 
his place by the side of the slumbering boy and 
gathered wild flowers and ferns that sparkled 
with dew and brought them to where the sleeper 
lay breathing the cool breath of the canyon. 

“This is a new day for him,” he said to himself 
as he placed the flowers close to the sleeper, “and 
I want the awakening to be bright and cheerful.” 

He then went a little further in the canyon and 
again lighted a match and held it high in front 
of him until it flickered out and then he gathered 
pieces of dry wood and built a fire. 

“I’ll build a good one,” he said half aloud, 
“for the canyon draft is good.” He had tested 


100 


Sulphur Fumes 


it with the flame of a match and knew the smoke 
would be drawn through the picturesque hiatus 
and blend with the cool, fresh air before reaching 
the top and there would be no telltales for the 
Indians if there were any about. 

After making sure there was no danger of 
sparks igniting nearby timber, he went to where 
his saddle-bags lay and took from one of them his 
fish-line and several fly-hooks and then cautiously 
went a little further up the canyon and cast his 
line. He had angled many times for mountain 
trout and knew the joys of hiding behind a boulder 
while casting the line, and his face wreathed in 
smiles as he saw the flies bob and dance on the 
rippling waters. In a short time he had landed 
breakfast for two. 

On the way back to the fire he gathered several 
sticks and sharpened one end of each. “Broiled 
mountain trout for breakfast isn’t so bad,” he 
smiled as he finished sharpening the last stick. 
Then he gathered more ferns and autumn leaves. 
While he was arranging the brilliant blossoms and 
leaves, a sunbeam came through the cluster of 
trees and roused Howard, and he was bathing his 
hands and face in the waters of the brook when 
his friend returned. 

“Hustle, my boy,” called Stanley. “You must 
help prepare breakfast.” 



A New Day 


101 


When the aroma of coffee came, he spread ferns 
for a table and served the trout on the brilliant- 
hued autumn leaves. They were just finishing 
breakfast when Stanley quickly arose to his feet 
and grabbed his gun. He had heard the crack¬ 
ling of twigs and it sounded to him as if someone 
was coming through the brush. 

“There’s a six-shooter in one of my bags,” he 
whispered, “get it,” and in an instant Howard 
rushed to where the saddle bags lay and, as 
quickly as he went, returned with the revolver and 
took his place by Stanley’s side. Each moment 
the sound became more distinct. 

Howard’s gun was an old-fashioned, double- 
barrel piece with trigger. “Cock your gun,” 
whispered Stanley without turning, and both ham¬ 
mers of Howard’s gun clicked into place. “Do 
not shoot unless it is absolutely necessary,” he 
again whispered, and as he spoke he leveled his 
gun in the direction from which the noise came. 
The sounds grew nearer and nearer, and the 
nature of them puzzled Stanley. 

“Hardly heavy enough for a man or an 
Indian,” he mused, as he motioned to Howard 
and they moved closer to the wall of the canyon. 

All was quiet for a moment and then from out 
of the brush came an emaciated looking dog. 
Stanley looked first at the dog and then to where 


102 


Sulphur Fumes 


Howard stood, and a foolish smile passed over 
each face. 

Half crouching but with a friendly wag of his 
tail, the dog came to where they stood. “Poor 
thing,” said Stanley, “he’s hungry,” but when food 
was offered him he would not eat but, with a 
distressing whine, turned and retraced his steps 
a few yards and stopped and again whined as he 
looked back. 

Stanley and Howard went to where he stood 
and again offered him food but he would not take 
it and went a few yards further on and stopped 
and again turned around and whined. 

“There is something wrong,” said Stanley. “He 
wants us to follow him. He smelled the food and 
knew there were people around and has come to 
us for some kind of help.” 

They followed on behind him and he led the 
way to a little log cabin near the stream where a 
water-cradle stood and a pick and shovel lay on 
the bank close by. Stanley went into the cabin and 
on a bunk near a small stove lay the dead body 
of a prospector. 

There were no papers of identification in the 
place and nothing to throw light on conditions as 
they found them. Stanley looked for a name on 
the collar of the dog who stood close by the bunk 
intently watching every movement, but did not 


A New Day 


103 


find one. After a thorough search it was decided 
to bury the body and notify the people at the first 
settlement or any prospector they might meet. 

“You can help me,” said Stanley. “We will have 
to dig a grave.” Soon Howard was at work 
shoveling away the earth as Stanley loosened it 
with his pick. It was a shallow grave they dug 
but Stanley protected it from the ravages of 
beasts by placing logs across the top. 

After the body had been wrapped in the 
bedding found in the cabin and laid in the grave 
and Stanley was filling in the earth, Howard ran 
back to where they had breakfasted, gathered the 
ferns and wild flowers Stanley had picked and 
with them in his arms returned to the scene just 
as the grave was being filled. When the earth 
was carefully leveled off, Stanley placed a board 
marker, upon which he had written the details as 
they had found them, at the head of the mound 
and then quietly drew the logs in place. 

When all was over Howard spoke kindly to the 
dog and motioned to him to come with them. He 
slowly came to where the boy stood and, raising 
himself on his hind legs, placed his front paws on 
his breast for a moment and then went to where 
the flowers had been placed at the head of his 
Master’s grave and silently lay down. They 
again offered him food, but he refused to take it. 


104 


Sulphur Fumes 


“He will lie there and die,” said Stanley, as he 
quietly looked on. “That’s friendship,” and as 
he spoke he took Howard by the arm and turned 
away. “A year from now,” he said, “if the 
master’s body is not removed, the bleached bones 
of his devoted friend will lie at the head of his 
grave.” 

They slowly walked back to where the horses 
were quietly grazing and began the task of break¬ 
ing camp. 

“My new day,” said Howard as he threw the 
saddle over the back of his horse, “breaks beauti¬ 
fully clear and I feel as if I had been born again.” 

“And to do big things,” interrupted Stanley, 
with a pleased smile and words that rang with 
affection. 

“I feel like stretching out my arms to the 
illimitable mountains and deep gorges and sound¬ 
ing the reveille!” 

“In other words,” said Stanley, “life looms 
up large on your horizon.” 

“Yes,” he answered, but there was a tinge of 
sadness in his voice, which Stanley noticed and 
went to where he stood tightening the cinch and 
put his strong arm around the boy’s shoulders. 

“You will come out ahead of the game. We 
must have deep shadows to make a beautiful 
picture,” and, as he finished speaking, patted him 


A New Day 


105 


affectionately on the back. “Remember, my boy, 
you will have help you do not see, and also remem¬ 
ber your invisible helper will not forsake you— 
unless you forsake him.” 

The boy looked up quickly. “I have thought 
of all that and I know you are my friend. Last 
night when we rode along in the moonlight I de¬ 
cided to leave all the disagreeable matters in con¬ 
nection with my father’s death with you, for you 
will be there on the ground.” 

As he spoke the deliberate words, Stanley re¬ 
membered the long periods of meditation as they 
rode through the night and at the time wondered 
if it was the difference in their ages that caused 
the seeming timidity on the part of Howard, or 
if he was naturally serious. But now he knew 
and was pleased with the boy’s seriousness. “He 
appreciates the tangle in his life,” he thought as 
he listened. 

“Anything you and Judge Howell think best 
to do will be satisfactory to me.” 

Stanley was again pleased with the confiding 
words, for he knew there would be times when 
quick action would count for much. “If I had 
ever had a dishonest thought towards the boy,” 
he mused, “those words would have chased it 
away.” 

Howard again became enthusiastic. “What 


106 


Sulphur Fumes 


a splendid foundation for a wonderful man,” 
thought the detective, “and what a change twenty- 
four hours have made!” 

“I will help you fasten this roll,” Stanley said, 
as he lifted in place a tightly roped bundle of bed¬ 
ding, “and then we must be off.” 

It was not many minutes before they were rid¬ 
ing single-file over a trail where here and there 
a pine tree would seem to be growing out of a 
boulder. The trail was far removed from the 
path of the bull-team and road-agents, and Stan¬ 
ley hoped far from the habitat of Indians. It 
was steep and perilous in places and the slide-rock 
often moved as they cautiously crossed a wing of 
the main canyon. Now and then a large rock 
would loosen and roll with an echoing sound, 
striking a tree or glancing off a boulder, until it 
reached the silvery stream below, and they care¬ 
fully followed a path on the side of a precipice 
until they reached timber-line. They reined in 
before crossing a shelf of rock where many mas¬ 
sive boulders were in fantastic shape. 

“The world is big,” was all Howard said, as 
they rode on to where the trail dipped into a 
dense forest, and they traveled to where the music 
of the winds was like blowing on harp-strings. 

“This is a good place to rest and water the 
horses,” said Stanley, as he reined in and quickly 


A New Day 


107 


dismounted, soon followed by Howard. They 
stayed just long enough to feed and water the 
horses and take some food themselves and then 
remounted and rode on until they came to a de¬ 
serted camp. Here, in earlier nomadic days, 
shallow placers had been worked out, and rough, 
hard men and women had thrown their packs over 
their shoulders, after fastening the diamond-cinch 
on their pack horses, and wandered on to richer 
fields, leaving notices tacked on doors of the 
cabins they were deserting. Some cut the notices 
on boards or logs. 

On the outskirts of the deserted camp was a 
sad and tragic looking cemetery and, before en¬ 
tering the weird village where some shacks were 
in complete ruin and others leaning awry, their 
broken windows staring out over the hills, they 
dismounted and tied their horses to a tree and 
then entered the little city of the dead where the 
very air breathed of tragedy. There were board 
markers and wooden crosses at some graves and 
many of these were half toppling over on mounds 
overgrown with weeds and other low growing 
things. The cemetery was on the side of a hill 
where heavy rains had washed away much of the 
soil and decomposed granite from the shallow 
graves and in many places parts of coffins were 
exposed. In places the heat of the sun had 


108 


Sulphur Fumes 


warped the pine boards and it seemed as if a 
skeleton might roll out at any time. 

“See,” said Stanley, as he leaned over more 
fully to inspect a warped board of a coffin, 
“coyotes have been trying to break in.” He showed 
Howard where their teeth had pulled bits of the 
pine away in an endeavor to reach the body. They 
stayed but a few moments in the neglected place 
and, as they turned from the gruesome scene, 
Stanley said softly, as if he feared his words 
might awaken the sleepers: 

“We will leave the horses tied where they are 
and walk through the camp.” 

As they slowly walked down the dusty road a 
frightened, half-starved dog saw them coming 
towards him and ran away to the brow of a 
nearby hill where he stopped and stood like a 
statue looking back at them as they went from 
shack to shack. 

The boy was slow in leaving one half tumbled 
down place that stood a short way removed from 
its neighbors and, when he reached the open, he 
found his companion standing silently looking 
towards the brow of a hill near where the stage 
road led and where they were to pass. 

“What is it, Stanley?” he asked with much in¬ 
terest, and while he spoke his eyes traveled to 
where the man stood and then towards the hill. 


A New Day 


109 


“Do you see that small enclosure?” asked Stan¬ 
ley, not turning towards Howard who had stopped 
and was intently gazing to where the earth and sky 
met, taking from each other tones that blended 
in harmony as delicate as the petals of a frail 
flower. 

“Yes,” answered the boy, not turning his eyes 
to the speaker, “what is it?” 

Stanley told him of some of the unusual trage¬ 
dies of earlier days and particularly this one that 
had its ending in the lone grave by the side of 
the road, a mound of decomposed granite fenced 
in by unhewn board pickets warped and twisted 
by the elements. The grave was high above the 
camp and valley, and from where they stood the 
unkempt fence had the clear blue sky as back¬ 
ground and in a way seemed like a sentinel. 

“She loved this country, so I am told,” said 
Stanley seriously, “but,” and he hesitated again— 
“she was unfortunate.” In speaking the words 
he turned his eyes to where Howard stood and 
he knew from the boy’s expression he did not 
understand. He guarded his story so as not to 
tarnish the young mind in any way, but, at 
the same time, gave him veiled knowledge of the 
tragedies of former days and he fashioned his 
words to act as a bulwark in days to come. 

“The real truth must be thrust upon him only 


110 


Sulphur Fumes 


too soon,” he mused as he told him harmless bits 
of the life story of the woman as it had been told 
him by an old timer. 

“Passengers on the stage-coach who ask ques¬ 
tions as they pass the lonely spot are told it is a 
grave and that is all. Old timers who know her 
story hesitate to talk about it; still she had one 
friend at least, for at Christmas season a wreath 
of flowers is placed on a picket at one corner of 
the fence surrounding the grave.” 

As they continued their tour of inspection they 
were silent for some moments but Howard soon 
forgot the lone grave and was much interested as 
he wandered around reading signs and looking 
through cabins where home-made furniture had 
been left behind. 

“Listen to this,” he said, as he stood before a 
nailed-up door and read a notice that had been 
tacked on the rough boards: “ ‘If Minnie Jones 
should happen this way, she will find her shoes 
and other belongings in Tim Shanon’s cabin at 
Gold Run.’ ” On a door not far distant a notice 
read: “If anyone knows where John Walker is 
at, tell him his father is dead.” And while look¬ 
ing through a little place that gave the impres¬ 
sion of a sudden death, he drew an empty box 
close to the wall where he might stand and reach 
a wall-bracket that was grimy and festooned with 


A New Day 


111 


cobwebs. Underneath some papers that were 
yellow with age he found a button-string, a spool 
with five pins sticking in one end and an envelope 
that had the appearance of having been carried 
in a pocket for some time. 

“What is this?” he said, holding the long string 
of buttons for Stanley to see. 

“A charm-string,” he answered with a smile, 
and then became serious. “This cabin must have 
been occupied by people of feeling, and they cer¬ 
tainly overlooked these treasures,” he hesitated 
a moment, “in the mad rush to a new diggin, 
and are perhaps too far away to return for 
them.” He stood for some time examining the 
variety of interesting buttons. “Each button tells 
a story of love or recalls a pleasant friendship. 
Put them back, some one may return for them.” 
Howard carefully laid them away. 

“And what is this?” asked Howard, as he 
handed the spool with the five pins placed around 
the hole in one end. 

Stanley laughed heartily. “I used to have one,” 
he said. “Get a string and I’ll show you how it 
is worked.” Howard stood by smiling while 
watching him as he wrapped the twine twice 
around the pins, and with a pin he took from the 
bottom of his vest, placed one string over the 
other until he pulled from the other end of the 


112 


Sulphur Fumes 


spool an end like roll. “We used to make mats 
this way.” He laughed and handed it back to 
Howard. “Put it in the rack with the buttons 
and cover them up, but first let’s see what is in the 
envelope.” While speaking he took an envelope 
from Howard’s hand. “A few verses,” he said, 
and his face again took on a serious expression. 
“A poor hobo,” and for a moment his voice was 
silent but his eyes again traveled around the lone¬ 
some room. “Perhaps one of his friends lived 
here,—a tragedy of early days,” and he began 
to read: 

It was at a western water tank, 

One cold December day, 

In the land of sand and sage-brush, 

A dying hobo lay. 

His comrades gathered ’round him, 

With sad and drooping heads, 

And silently they listened 
To what the hobo said. 

Just tell them back in ’Frisco, 

That I’ve gone to the land that’s bright, 

Where hand-outs grow on bushes, 

And you can sleep out doors at night. 

There are no city cops 

To chase you ’round the blocks, 

And a little stream of whiteline 
Comes trickling down the rocks. 


A New Day 


113 


Now come, my dear old comrades, 

Let tears not dim your eye, 

For in this wild and woolly west, 

None but women and children cry. 

Then they laid poor Frisco Dock in his grave, 

And covered him o’er with sand, 

And from the water-tank a shingle took, 

And wrote with trembling hand: 

“Here lie the remains of Frisco Dock, 

God’s will shall be done on earth, 

As it is in Heaven.” 

“Poor Duffer,” said Stanley, as he finished read¬ 
ing and intently watched Howard’s changed ex¬ 
pression, “and who knows but what the former 
occupant of this shack had some connection with 
Frisco Dock? They both may have been driven 
from the city by the Golden Gate. The Vigi¬ 
lantes of 1856, who were much like the Regulators 
of Texas, directed their energies chiefly against 
horse thieves, robbers and that horrible and 
worst of all crimes—the importation of lewd 
women from the slums of eastern cities to estab¬ 
lish resorts that were hell-holes where men were 
entrapped, robbed and murdered. Perhaps I 
ought not to tell you of that side of life; still it 
may be best for a boy developing into young man¬ 
hood to know these things.” 

Howard’s eyes protruded but he did not speak, 



114 


Sulphur Fumes 


and Stanley knew his words were being indelibly 
stamped on the young mind and he thought it wise 
to go a little further while the boy was all at¬ 
tention. 

“Officers of the law were lax, and laws, if one 
could call them such, were not duly administered, 
and you will, in the course of events, learn that 
some of the courts of justices here in this state 
are either corrupted or neglectful of their duties, 
and juries are packed with unworthy men and 
justice and the will of the people defied. The 
criminals, as you will find in some instances here, 
have the support of the judges and with such 
knowledge feel themselves to be above or exempt 
from the law.” 

Howard’s attention seemed to be distracted 
from Stanley’s words that a few moments before 
had held his attention closely. He stopped speak¬ 
ing and stood silently watching the boy, whose 
eyes had traveled towards the boarded-up window 
and then quickly back to the watcher’s inquiring 
face. 

“Listen!” he said in much surprise. “It is not 
raining, is it?” He hurried to the door that had 
swung shut, opened it and looked out. “No,” he 
said, turning around. “But what is it? It sounds 
like the slow dripping of water.” 

Stanley had recognized the sound and smiled 


A New Day 


115 


as he noticed the boy’s puzzled expression. “It’s 
a mountain rat hiding on one of the rafters that 
support the roof.” 

He then told Howard of the many peculiari¬ 
ties of the little animal and how, when hiding and 
thinking they are secure from the enemy, they 
keep their tail steadily striking against some 
nearby object. 

“Like an ostrich hiding his head,” interrupted 
Howard. 

“Yes, and it sounds like the steady dripping of 
water.” 

When they moved on and reached another 
cabin, a little removed from the others, the hinges 
screeched when they pushed open the door, and 
on the pillow of the bunk in the little one-room 
shack there was pinned a sheet of paper with the 
numbers: 3-7-77 stamped in red. 

“How queer,” said Howard as he stepped 
nearer. “What do the numbers mean?” 

“A quick ‘get-away,’ ” suggested Stanley. “It’s 
a vigilante’s notice.” 

He told the surprised boy the story of the vigi¬ 
lantes and how, when a suspicious character came 
into the country 3-7-77 was placed on his pillow 
or tacked on his door. 

“But what do they mean?” he asked. 

Stanley told him that three meant a grave three 


116 


Sulphur Fumes 


feet wide, and seven was the number of feet long 
the grave would be, and seventy-seven inches was 
the depth. “And they knew if they did not leave 
the diggins without further notice their bodies 
would dangle from the limb of a tree,” he said 
bitterly. “It’s irony, isn’t it?” was all Stanley 
said as they walked on and stopped to read the 
words chiseled on a log—“Annie Brown has gone 
to work in Jack Harvey’s place at Gold Run.” 
A beam at the side of the road marked the spot 
where a lynching had taken place. 

Howard shuddered as he hurried away. 
“They’re like inscriptions on tombstones.” 

It was far after the noon hour when they left 
the weird, deserted place that was spooky and 
empty. All around seemed like the repose of 
death. They were both intently silent as they 
slowly rode by the tumbled-down buildings where 
life at one time had unfolded itself in joys and 
sorrows. As they passed the last shack on the 
edge of the camp Howard could not refrain from 
stopping his horse and looking back, for the mys¬ 
tery of it all fascinated him. He lagged behind 
but a moment, and then turned and spurred his 
horse on to where Stanley was riding at a com¬ 
fortable gait. 

They had gone but a short distance when they 
came upon two men who were coyoting in aban- 



A New Day 


117 


doned spots. A commonplace and unromantic 
looking pair they were, blear-eyed and loathsome, 
just the type of sluice-robbers; and further on 
were five men who had set a sluice and were 
working where the seepage from the snow-caps 
passed over the shiny particles that sparkled on 
the rocks. 

As they reined in to speak with the men and to 
tell them of their ghastly find earlier in the day, 
Stanley noticed the yellow lined bottom of the 
sluices and he did not miss seeing the guns that 
lay close at hand. They had made a big strike 
and intended to protect it, and he wondered how 
much of it would go in bets on the ivory balls of 
a whirling roulette. They looked on for a few 
moments and then rode on through the stately 
pines and soon emerged upon the edge of a grand 
plateau where picturesque cowboys in fine silhou¬ 
ette were herding cattle. 

“We will stop here for a moment,” said Stan¬ 
ley, reining in his horse. “This is where we 
change your name.” He smiled as he explained: 
“Howard Stillman is good. Life will not be hum¬ 
drum out here, for the main-spring of the ranch 
is cattle raising, and you like to ride the range. 
You will see and appreciate the beautiful in the 
free, open life, and I know you will make each 
day a wonderful picture. Your hours will be full 


118 


Sulphur Fumes 


and I shall see you often and report the doings 
in your affairs in the camp. Early in the morn¬ 
ing I shall start back to the diggins, and will take 
the main stage road, for it will make little dif¬ 
ference then if I am seen.” 

They sat for some moments enjoying the ka¬ 
leidoscopic view and then walked their horses and 
drank in the perfume of sage-brush and larkspur. 

The sun was hanging low in the heavens when 
they came in sight of Sunrise Ranch. 

“We have plenty of time,” said Stanley. “Let’s 
not hurry the horses—it’s all so beautiful.” 

They had ridden through cool canyons, over 
snow-capped mountains and through aisles of 
pines and the contrasts were startling. 

The home spot of Sunrise Ranch was like an 
oasis in the desert. The big pine trees that were 
treasured as wind-breaks were throwing long 
shadows and the heavens were aglow in the bril¬ 
liant hues of sunset when they reached the ram¬ 
bling log house. Some ranch hands were near a 
well bathing their hands and faces in basins of 
water that stood on a bench beneath a screech¬ 
ing windmill where roll-towels hung on the frame¬ 
work. Their welcome was most cordial, and the 
ranchers all turned in to give their new companion 
a truly Western reception. The boy was soon at 
ease in his new surroundings. 



Chapter XI 

Two Modes of Procedure 


J UDGE HOWELL knocked at the door of 
Stanley’s room in the little hotel where three 
nights before he had met Howard and in a 
moment responded to a call bidding him enter. 
He had not seen the detective since his return 
from his trip to Sunrise and was anxious to hear 
about Howard and to know what kind of a jour¬ 
ney they had over the rugged range and that part 
of the plateau it was necessary to cross in order 
to reach their destination. 

As the Judge entered the sparsely furnished 
room, Stanley left his seat by the window and 
came forward to meet him and to move a chair 
close to the one in which he had been sitting. 

“How did everything go?” asked the Judge, 
as he took the proffered seat and lighted a cigar 
Stanley handed him. 

“Fine!” came the quick answer. “He’s a won¬ 
derful boy. I should say, young man, for all 
traces of the boy you saw vanished in a few hours, 
and I left a modest, handsome young man at Sun¬ 
rise Ranch.” 


120 


Sulphur Fumes 


“I am interested to know that,” said the Judge 
reflectively. “Now we can plan a mode of pro¬ 
cedure. It will be an uphill battle and I wish he 
would leave everything to us, for many things 
that must be done he would not understand and 
perhaps many times quick action might be neces¬ 
sary and it would be awkward reaching him, and 
very dangerous, for his whereabouts must be kept 
a secret—his life depends upon that. If he were 
discovered the first attempt would be to buy him 
off and if that failed, put him out of the way. You 
know, such things have been done in this place 
and are being done right along. That man Har¬ 
vey is a bad one and will not stop at anything to 
gain his point, and the Jew, Kovinsky, is his tool. 
So there you are. We have a hard bunch to 
face.” 

At first the Judge did not understand the detec¬ 
tive’s smile but his face shone with satisfaction 
when Stanley told him Howard had suggested 
leaving everything for them to do. “And prefaced 
the suggestion,” he said, “with ‘I am on the 
threshold of a life I wish to make big and beauti¬ 
ful, and do not want to think of those things.’ ” 

“Filled with youthful romance,” smiled the 
Judge, “and it seems strange,” he continued, “for 
the old man was all commercial—perhaps the finer 
feelings come from his mother,” and as he fin- 



Two Modes of Procedure 121 

ished speaking both sat in silence for some mo¬ 
ments. 

“I wish I knew something of her,” said the 
Judge in breaking the silence. 

“He told me,” said Stanley, “all he knew of his 
mother was that she was very beautiful and the 
daughter of his father’s housekeeper.” 

“His attitude towards us is splendid,” said the 
Judge, “and giving us carte blanche makes our 
sailing easier.” 

“On rough waters,” said Stanley. 

“Yes, that is true,” said the Judge, with a slow 
shake of the head, “and we haven’t a supply of 
oil to pour on the troubled waters.” 

And Stanley saw in each word he spoke.money 
for corrupting. “We would not use it if we 
had,” he said. 

“In the morning I shall file the guardianship 
papers and follow them by a request for the ap¬ 
pointment of an administrator of the Dunlap 
estate.” 

“I wonder if we will be able to legitimatize the 
boy,” said Stanley, seriously. “In skirmishing 
around,” he continued, “I may find some material 
evidence. You know, the nephew and Jack Har¬ 
vey are not overly popular.” 

“Yes, I know that hut they are in possession 


122 


Sulphur Fumes 


and have plenty of money to use and you know 
that counts in this burg.” 

While they sat by the grimy window that 
looked out on weird forms passing to and fro 
through sulphur fumes and soot, Jack Harvey 
and Anthony Dunlap, Jr., sat in the private office 
of the Dunlap Corporation planning a mode of 
procedure. 

“You have made some damaging statements,” 
said Harvey with a sneer. “Perhaps it's your 
age.” His eyes watched Anthony and his fingers 
played with a few gold nuggets that hung from 
his vulgar watch-chain, as he continued speaking 
in a dictatorial voice: “I’ve fit Indians,” he said, 
with an air of braggadocio, “am Fve driv’ camels 
an’ I guess I can manage this here affair.” His 
face was repulsive as he continued, but seemed to 
hold Anthony, who sat listening and acquiescing 
in everything the former range-rider proposed. 
Fie was timid like a bird or rabbit as it quietly 
walks to the mouth of the snake that has charmed 
it. “I’ve got the certificates of stock, an’ I’m go¬ 
ing to keep them an’ prove the old man gave um 
to you,” he said, not taking his eyes off of the 
listener. 

“How can you? They have never been trans¬ 
ferred on the books.” 


Two Modes of Procedure 


123 


Harvey’s smile was wicked as he listened to the 
young man’s words and thought of the many 
things money could do with corrupt courts. 
“Leave that to me,’’ he said, closing the lid over 
the good eye, while the cock-eye looked towards 
the window where there was a slight opening be¬ 
tween the shade and casement. He walked to 
where the light from outside shone in and pinned 
a newspaper over the crack and then turned for 
• a moment and silently watched Anthony, who sat 
gazing at him. 

There was a wild stare in the young man’s eyes 
Harvey did not like. “I’ll get him,” he said to 
himself and then with one of his feet tipped over 
a chair that stood close by and, while performing 
the act, did not take his eyes from Anthony and 
when he saw he could hold the young man men¬ 
tally, he was satisfied. He walked back to the 
seat he had left and quietly sat down and feigned 
indifference; but it was a cheap imitation. 

“Tell me,” asked Anthony, and his voice was 
timid as he spoke, “how did you get the stock cer¬ 
tificates? I have looked all around for my uncle’s 
keys and cannot find them.” 

Unconsciously, Harvey put his right hand in 
his pants pocket. “I know where the keys are,” 
he said and again left his seat and went to a desk 


124 


Sulphur Fumes 


that stood on the opposite side of the room and in 
the shadow, for they had lighted only one lamp, he 
carefully gathered the keys in the palm of his hand 
and drew it from his pocket while with the left he 
opened the desk and pulled out a drawer. “Here 
they are,” he said as he turned and faced An¬ 
thony. 

“That is strange,” said the young man, as Har¬ 
vey held up the keys. “I looked all through that 
desk.” He was silent for a moment and in that 
time Harvey watched him closely. 

“I will let him talk to me as much as he pleases, 
for it will give me a line on him,” and through 
half closed eyes he watched the young man as he 
sat with eyes resting on the floor. “I think I’ve 
got him,” he mused, and then seemed indifferent 
to Anthony’s words. 

“And you unlocked the vault and went through 
my uncle’s papers?” He had raised his head and 
turned to where Harvey stood. His expression 
was that of an injured person. 

“Yes,” laughed Harvey. “I’ve fit Indians an’ 
driv’ camels.” 

As he spoke Anthony thought: 

“I would like to add the keeper of a stockade 
and an all around bad man,” but he did not speak 
and Harvey was the first to break the silence. 

“Now let’s continue our business,” he hesitated 


Two Modes of Procedure 125 

and placed his hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “We 
must show the world you are the only relative 
the old man had any use for, and you are follow¬ 
ing out his wishes. Tomorrow, you must have 
plans drawn for a house an’ as soon as the girl 
can git ready you must git married. You are en¬ 
gaged to Myrtle Sullivan, ain’t you?” 

“Yes,” he answered as his face crimsoned. “I 
don’t know whether or not she will marry me.” 

“Well, if she won’t you can get Julia Moore.” 

“But she’s in love with that young doctor who 
has gone to locate in the South Seas.” 

“That’s no matter. There hain’t no cable to 
his island, and it would be all over before a letter 
could reach him, so cut all them sentiments out— 
they is no good at a time like this.” 

“Don’t you think we had better look for a will 
first ?” 

“Guess you are right,” and Harvey opened the 
vault door and brought out Anthony Dunlap, 
Sr.’s tin box that stood on a shelf in the back of 
the vault. It was old and battered looking, for 
the owner had often carried it for miles at a time 
strapped on the back of his saddle, the hot sun¬ 
shine at such times cracking and peeling off the 
black paint. It looked formidable as it stood on 
the flat top desk. 


126 


Sulphur Fumes 


“No, I’ll open it,” said Harvey, when Anthony 
reached forward for the keys. 

When Harvey spoke the young man drew back 
and sat looking on. Jack was quick to bring for¬ 
ward the envelope he thought contained a will. It 
was sealed, but he soon broke the wax and un¬ 
folded a sheet of foolscap paper. 

“It’s his will,” he said, without changing ex¬ 
pression, and Anthony anxiously leaned forward 
to listen while Harvey read its contents be¬ 
queathing amounts to this one and that. Amounts 
were all he could mention for he had no furniture 
worth while, and art and literature were foreign 
to his material brain. 

When Harvey finished reading he folded the 
paper but kept it in his hands. During the mo¬ 
ments of silence on the part of both, Anthony’s 
fingers nervously entwined one in the other and 
his face turned ashen but he did not speak. 

“You seem to share alike with the rest of 'em,” 
said Harvey, and Anthony, with fear in his eyes, 
watched him take a match from his pocket, at the 
same time moving a cuspidor with his foot and, 
after striking the match, hold the document over 
the flame. Anthony could not speak when he saw 
the paper crumple and blaze, and terror was 
written over his face as, with dilated eyes, he 
looked on while the ashes fell in the receptacle. 


Two Modes of Procedure 127 

“Now that’s out of the way, let’s look through 
those other things,’’ said Harvey, and they found 
mortgages drawing five per cent a month and 
many jewels that had been deposited as collateral. 

“But his will,” said Anthony, with much fear, 
and again Harvey half closed the good eye and 
a cynical smile passed over his uncouth face. 

“If a will is necessary I kin git a better one.” 
While speaking he closed and locked the box and 
soon it was back on the shelf in the vault, and he 
again sat facing his victim. Anthony was fast 
under his influence, and his air became more non¬ 
chalant. 

“While I am planning other things,” he said, 
leaning back in his chair and lighting a well sea¬ 
soned pipe he took from his coat pocket, “you go 
and see the Sullivan girl. She’s ‘sweller’ than 
the other dames an’ lives nearer.” Studying 
Anthony closely, he continued: “Tell her you 
are anxious to carry out your uncle’s greatest wish 
an’ you must git married right away.” 

With many misgivings and without stopping to 
argue, Anthony left the room. He returned in 
a short time and seemed much cast down. 

“She says there’s nothing doing, for it’s not a 
sure thing I’ll get anything out of the estate.” 

The statement did not in the least disturb 


128 


Sulphur Fumes 


Harvey. He consulted his watch and, after plac¬ 
ing it back in his pocket, removed the large soli¬ 
taire diamond stud he wore on the bosom of his 
flannel shirt and, unfastening the heavy gold chain 
from his watch, said to Anthony: 

“Come over here closer to the light,” and he 
decorated the astonished young fellow with his 
vulgar belongings. “Now, let’s see how you 
look,” and he turned the astonished man around 
and walked a short distance away. “Good! 
That’ll do fine! It’ll tickle their pockets an’ 
dazzle ’em; and when you go in, just jingle a 
few coins in your pocket an’ I betcher you git her. 
It’s not late—I’ll wait for you, for we must finish 
our plans, tonight.” 

Anthony, in his undersize and heavy decora¬ 
tions, resembled a cartoon in a cheap weekly. 

“Now hurry along,” said Jack, good naturedly, 
as he patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll round up 
Kovinsky while you are gone.” Anthony listened 
with almost terror in his eyes. Jack continued: 
“For there’ll be lots to use him for.” 

“And he’ll blackmail me for the rest of my 
days,” interrupted Anthony. 

“Forget that,” said Harvey sharply, with an 
expression that made Anthony cower. “Go now, 
and I’ll be here when you come back.” When he 



Two Modes of Procedure 


129 


finished speaking, Anthony, much decorated and 
with many misgivings, hurried down the hill to 
the valley and Julia Moore’s home. 

It was long past midnight when he returned and 
Jack was becoming impatient. When he came 
in there was lacking in his expression the happy 
smile that should envelop the face of an accepted 
lover. 

“Well, what luck?” asked Harvey, rubbing his 
tired eyes. “I’ll bet she is willing to take a chanst, 
for they are strong for money.” 

“Yes,” answered Anthony, without looking up. 
“She will marry me Saturday night,” he hesitated 
for a moment and his brow knit. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Harvey, quick to 
see that there was something bothering the young 
man. 

“She wants to have a big wedding!” 

“Of course,” laughed Harvey. “What girl 
wouldn’t when she’s marryin’ a rich man? And 
then it will help her to forgit the other feller. I 
betcher her old man is pleased, for he’s got a long 
eye for money.” 

“I haven’t any money,” said Anthony, again 
looking down and rubbing one foot nervously 
against the other. 

“Leave it to me,” said Harvey, wickedly. 


130 


Sulphur Fumes 


“You’ll git some, an’ the old man an’ girl are 
willing to take a chanst, so let ’em pull off the big 
weddin’ an’ everybody’ll think it fine you’re 
carrying out your uncle’s wishes.” 

Again his wicked eye half closed as he stood 
silently watching the young man, who did not 
reply. 


Chapter XII 

The Marriage of Julia and Anthony 


T he night air in the valley was clear 

and crisp. The towering mountains on 
either side had taken on a deep purple 
tinge and seemed to close in on the little stretch 
of level ground where sage-brush and rattle¬ 
snakes thrived. The slate colored columns of 
smoke from “stink-piles” rose high before 
spreading and settling over the camp on the 
mountain side. 

Julia Moore’s home was in the little valley 
where she had grown from childhood to young 
womanhood. She was a tall, slender girl, a good 
housekeeper and economical to a degree that 
pleased her father, who was from a thrifty, New 
England stock who believed in looking after the 
pennies. Empty bottles were carefully cleaned 
and laid away with vinegar and beer kegs that 
had gone through the same process of cleansing, 
and when a sufficient number had been collected 
she would take them up the hill to the camp and 
exchange them for commodities for the home and 


132 




Sulphur Fumes 


when she bought, it was never to pay the first 
price asked, for she knew cost prices. 

She was just in her dealings and usually broke 
the difference with the dealer, and Harvey and 
Kovinsky looked upon the match as an ideal one. 

“She’ll soon forget the other fellow,” they had 
often thought when Anthony talked of his ap¬ 
proaching marriage and how she at first de¬ 
murred, for she loved the young man who had 
sailed through the Golden Gate promising before 
he went away to return and take her to his island 
home far out in the Pacific—“a place where the 
sun always shines,” he had said at parting, and 
she had dreamed much of the tropic fruits and 
a beautiful spot where flowering ramblers grew 
in tramp-like freedom. In her dreams she often 
saw a little home surrounded by brilliant, low 
growing things, and one time she dreamed she 
was waiting for her loved one to return from 
work and while waiting she sat rocking and sing¬ 
ing a sweet lullaby. Underneath it all there was 
a great love for money and she turned her back 
on the beautiful dreams and gave way to her 
father’s arguments that “he may not make good 
in the islands,” and said “Yes” to Anthony’s 
proposal. 

Harvey and the Jew preceded the other guests 
bidden to the wedding by fully half an hour, for 


Marriage of Julia and Anthony 133 

they took full charge of matters pertaining to 
the marriage. Harvey carefully studied the 
names placed on the invitation list for he was 
anxious not to offend or overlook anyone who 
might be of use to them later on. Kovinsky 
looked after other things in detail. He was 
considered an authority on matters pertain¬ 
ing to the social world for in those days society 
was not particular. He had a dress suit he 
brought from St. Louis, where at the time of the 
breaking out of the Civil War he was proprietor 
of a pawn shop, but, like many others who trem¬ 
bled with fear, closed out his business and board¬ 
ed a flat-bottomed boat headed northward. He 
booked for the point furthest north and early one 
morning disembarked at Fort Benton and from 
there went overland with pack-horse, plying his 
arts of money hoarding until at last he reached 
the camp where Anthony Dunlap was a leading 
factor. 

Before deciding to trust him with so important 
a matter, Harvey questioned him at some length. 

“Of course I knows vot to do,” he said scorn¬ 
fully. “Ain’t I haf lifed in Vicks, an’ ain’t Vicks 
a ‘swell’ suppoib of Hellina? I knows vot to do, 
an’ I can do it.” So he was told to proceed in 
his own way. 

Two little boys in white suits were in the par- 


134 Sulphur Fumes 

lor when they entered and Jack quickly asked 
who they were. 

“They pulls ze strings,” he answered. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Harvey, 
with a puzzled expression. 

“Ze kids valk in and pull ze strings for ze brite 
to valk in ze middles.” 

And yet Harvey did not understand and the 
Jew said in an undertone, so as not to be over¬ 
heard by the boys, “Vot’s der youse off buying 
ribbons ven der ist to be a crowd? No one in 
ze voild vill knows it.” And as he finished speak¬ 
ing he inspected Harvey and gave his approval 
of his attire. 

Jack’s red hair was oiled and combed in a 
graceful curve over half of his forehead. He 
had cleaned his Sunday suit, or should we say 
“best,” for Sunday was not unlike any other day 
in the camp excepting in the spelling of the name, 
for on that day (the same as week days) stores, 
saloons and gambling houses were run full blast 
and sounds of crude music from other resorts 
came through the fumes to mingle with the 
“whoop-or-hop” of cowboys. Indian bucks rode 
pinto ponies through the streets and squaws sold 
bead-work the same on that day as on Saturday. 
His solitaire diamond shone large on his new flan- 


Marriage of Julia and Anthony 135 

nel shirt, and a pair of white kid gloves Kovinsky 
gave him incased his long, bony hands. 

When the guests began to arrive they stood 
close to the door and cordially received each as 
they arrived. 

“What a dear man he is,” said Mrs. Flynn, as 
she grasped Harvey’s hand, “thus, in the period 
of deepest grief, to carry out his uncle’s wishes. 
He must have a great sense of honor.” 

“Yes,” said Harvey looking down, “I tried 
hard to git him to wait, but he wouldn’t. The 
girl has had her trusser made for a long time, but 
the old man’s sickness prevented the weddin’.” 

He was interrupted by Kovinsky, who motioned 
him aside. “Look! Jack, kavick — who ist der 
dame?” and he pointed to a woman who had just 
entered the room. 

“Never mind,” said Harvey, closing the eye¬ 
lid half over his good eye, “she’s a newcomer in 
the camp.” 

“Mine Got un Himmel! Jack,” said Kovinsky, 
in undertones, “see ze earrings!” and he moved 
closer to Harvey and whispered: “Push her in ze 
front rows ver ve stands! Och, mine Got! How 
zay do shines! Push her in ze front rows, Jack, 
an’ ve vill all shines together, and ze big display 
of wealth vill make ze brite forgot.” As he fin¬ 
ished speaking he pulled Jack’s shirt bosom up a 


136 


Sulphur Fumes 


little so as to make the solitaire stand out more 
prominently. 

“Now youse ist a dream, Jack! Done let no- 
bodys take our places.” He turned quickly as he 
heard the minister’s solemn voice. “The hour for 
the marriage is at hand.” 

Kovinsky again whispered to Jack—“Push her 
up in front, Jack, and ve vill all move up an shine 
togethers.” As he finished speaking and turned 
around to where the minister had taken his posi¬ 
tion, the door leading into the kitchen where the 
bridal party had sat during the time the guests 
were arriving swung open and the two little boys 
passed through and entered the room where the 
guests had congregated. Many eyes twinkled and 
there were nudging of elbows when they noticed 
the heavy cord the boys were carrying. Then 
came the bride and groom and, as they entered, 
the Jew became very much excited. 

“I done it!—I done it!” he said in an under¬ 
tone, as he rubbed his hands together and looked 
into Harvey’s wondering eyes. 

“Done what?” whispered Harvey. 

“Vy done youse see—I done it —zay ist off one 
size! I take his shoes mit der shoemakers an’ 
haf ze heels make much higher an’ I lets his pants 
down.” 

Harvey did not understand, and with sur- 






Marriage of Julia and Anthony 137 

prised expression playing over his face asked him 
why he let his pants down, and Kovinsky answered 
quickly: 

“Vy, to cover ze heels, of course. Toin youse- 
self arount a little, Jack,” he again whispered, “so 
ze diamont vill shown more plainly.” He smiled 
with much satisfaction and again whispered, “Gee, 
how ve do shines!” Then, in much confidence 
said, as he leaned still closer: “I had ze brite 
vair ze veil so ze peoples vould not notice she was 
humped down so ast to be ze same ast ze grooms.” 

Soon the words were spoken that made Julia 
and Anthony husband and wife. Congratulations 
were offered in truly Western fashion, and a sump¬ 
tuous supper served. Then the young people 
made ready for the journey to Twin Bridges 
where the honeymoon was to be spent. Two toll- 
bridges spanning the Madison River that flowed 
close by the little place suggested the name. 

“I hope they’re goin’ to Twin Bridges don’t 
mean nuthin’ suggestive,” said Matildy Evans to 
her husband who smiled as he answered: 

“It would be just one more of his uncle’s great 
wishes he would be carrying out,” and many 
eyes twinkled when they heard the “wag’s” touch 
of pleasantry. 


Chapter XIII 

In the Palace of Sorrows 

R ELATIVES of Anthony Dunlap, deceased, 
came from every direction, and some 
who had never seen their kin were weight¬ 
ed down with crepe, and many stories told of 
beautiful remembrance of the deceased. Each 
had a coterie of attorneys, for they were sus¬ 
picious of the integrity of each other. The at¬ 
torneys, all looking nervous and wise, sat at tables 
in front of the raised platform where Judge Mc- 
Fadden sat in a high backed chair behind a heavily 
carved golden-oak desk on top of which were piled 
many legal documents and lawbooks, and the 
two front rows of seats in the auditorium were 
reserved for the sorrowing kin, and in their som¬ 
bre attire seemed more like a funeral than a case 
at law. 

“My dear Uncle Anthony,” sobbed an old maid 
from New England, as she listened to a French¬ 
man who had married into the family tell of the 
intimate life of the deceased as he claimed he knew 
it and the many hardships the deceased had en¬ 
dured while amassing the great fortune they were 


In the Palace of Sorrows 139 

there to divide, for some of them had brought 
strong boxes for that purpose. 

It was the last day of the hearing and the people 
from all walks of life jostled each other as they 
stood in line. Serious looking women rubbed 
shoulders with shop-girls and clergymen argued 
points of law with secretaries from the “under¬ 
world,” while waiting to be admitted to the 
“Palace of Sorrows” as the court house was 
familiarly called. 

The case, as it proceeded from day to day, had 
been given wide publicity, and many high colored 
and wild stories of the romantic side of the de¬ 
ceased’s life were told on street corners, and gos¬ 
sip surrounded the handsome boy who might in¬ 
herit the whole estate, for a will had not been 
found, and public curiosity was at white heat. 
Extra papers were anxiously sought from the lit¬ 
tle newsboys who loudly called with happy smiles 
playing over their faces, for the Dunlap case with 
its many highly colored phases had brought much 
extra coin to their coffers—if we might use the 
term. 

Excepting Anthony Dunlap, Jr., none of the rel¬ 
atives had ever seen Howard. Elis birth was 
a “skeleton in the closet” with the Puritanical rel¬ 
atives, and until his death and the amount of his 
estate made known, Anthony Dunlap, Sr., was 


140 


Sulphur Fumes 


looked upon as an outcast and his name rarely 
ever mentioned in the different homes, and the old 
maid who had sobbed much during the proceed¬ 
ings had refused many times to be left alone in his 
presence for fear of being polluted. 

“Why does he not attend the proceedings?” 
thought many when Howard’s name was men¬ 
tioned, and the thought suggested many marvelous 
tales of murder and kidnapping and holding for 
ransom, so that the whole populace was on the 
qui vive in anticipation of a surprise of some kind. 
It was not a love for Anthony Dunlap, Jr., that 
spurred some of the people to great activity in his 
favor but a selfish wish to keep the money in the 
community, and they laid honor aside while turn¬ 
ing a willing ear to the flattering propositions that 
Jack Harvey and Kovinsky made in the name of 
Anthony Dunlap, Jr., who cowered under the hyp¬ 
notic power of Harvey. With terror in his eyes 
he often said, “I’ll be a subject of blackmail as 
long as I live,” and a chill akin to terror passed 
through his body the day Harvey, with a wicked 
smile, suggested with a knowing wink that he give 
Judge McFadden’s mother-in-law a nice, comfort¬ 
able home. 

“You know,” he said, closing his good eye, “the 
Judge lives with her, an’ it would be a nice, quiet 
place for him to write decisions”; and soon a deed 


In the Palace of Sorrows 


141 


was made to one of Harvey’s confederates who 
in turn transferred it to the old woman who had 
passed through many hardships in early days. 
There was a time when she cast her lot with % 
Chinese woodchopper who had been kind to her 
half-orphaned children. That was when she lay 
suffering from a wound caused by an Indian’s 
arrow while caring for her white husband, whose 
body had been pierced by the same kind of flint. 
From the belt of the Indian who wounded her, her 
husband’s scalp dangled. 

Mixed marriages were not uncommon in those 
days and the “squaw-man” was a familiar figure 
around squalid camps where they lazily hung 
about while the squaw wife did the work. 

Two witnesses for the nephew had been arrest¬ 
ed for perjury but were soon released, for the of¬ 
ficer of the law had a sudden change of heart while 
out for a quiet walk with Kovinsky. 

Stanley Weyman, who had been a constant at¬ 
tendant at the trial, where it was known his sym¬ 
pathy was with the boy, had mysteriously disap¬ 
peared and his absence caused much comment, 
and many were also apprehensive as to his safety. 
His belonging in his room in the little hotel and in 
his office were intact and his going was as complete 
as a cloud fading away. 

A newspaper man who had made uncomplimen- 


142 


Sulphur Fumes 


tary reference to some of the nephew’s associates 
had been mysteriously murdered and the nerve 
tension of the populace was strained almost to 
breaking. Officers were called to guard the en¬ 
trance to the court room. 

Objection to Anthony Dunlap’s claim of owner¬ 
ship of the Dunlap stock were filed not only by 
each relative, but also by Howard Dunlap through 
his legally appointed guardian, Judge Howell. 
It had been stipulated that all would join in one 
hearing. “It will expedite matters,” the lawyers 
had argued, and the legitimacy of Howard was to 
be heard later on, the heirs feeling that if his claim 
of heirship was established it would be easier to 
effect a settlement with him than with those who 
controlled the nephew. “We will take a chance,” 
said one of the attorneys for a niece of the de¬ 
ceased, and the others acquiesced. Kovinsky had 
been on the stand, and Harvey, with tears in his 
eyes, had told the jury how he had witnessed the 
gift, and, among other things, described a very 
touching scene between the nephew and his uncle 
while the latter stood at the old man’s bedside a 
few minutes before he passed away, and, while he 
was speaking, the nephew hung his head for he 
could not control his facial expression which only 
too plainly told of guilt. It was for that reason 
he had been cautioned to keep his face in the 


In the Palace of Sorrows 


143 


shadow as much as possible and it was also for 
that reason that he was not put on the witness 
stand in his own defense for the lack of control 
was a telltale. 

“Just as the old man was handing the stock to 
Anthony,” Harvey had testified, “an’ a kissing of 
him, a Swede came into the room but quickly 
backed out just the way he came in, for he knew 
it was a private matter,” and while he spoke many 
in the court room through half-closed eyelids 
watched him, for they knew his unsavory reputa¬ 
tion and the tactics he often practiced. Those 
same eyes followed him when he left the witness 
chair and took his accustomed seat by the side of 
Anthony Dunlap, and directly back of the neph¬ 
ew’s leading attorney, where he could watch those 
in the jury box. 

Prior to this, Judge Howell had taken no active 
part in the proceedings, but had made many notes, 
and the mixed audience was at a loss to understand 
the silence on the part of the attorney who repre¬ 
sented Howard in a dual capacity. 

Soon there was a buzz of voices in half whispers 
and craning of many necks, for Stanley Wey- 
man had come in and quietly taken a seat beside 
Judge Howell. 

“He is here,” he whispered, drawing his chair 


144 


Sulphur Fumes 


closer and using his handkerchief to wipe the 
moisture from his brow. 

The Judge at once arose and addressed the 
court. His position was more to build and try for 
evidence to establish his client in his rightful posi¬ 
tion before the world than to prepare for the hear¬ 
ing that was to follow. 

“I have but one witness,” he said, half turn¬ 
ing to where the spectators sat in a death-like 
silence. “Will Howard Dunlap please take the 
stand?” 

The silence was broken and utter confusion, 
bordering on pandemonium, reigned when a door 
leading into the chambers opened and Howard 
came quietly through and passed up the aisle lead¬ 
ing towards the witness chair. 

Although a boy, he walked with all the dignity 
of a man in middle life. Judge McFadden’s 
gavel sounded for order and soon quiet came and 
the people leaned forward full of expectancy. 

“What a change a few weeks have made!” 
whispered Stanley, as he left his seat and went to 
Judge Howell’s side. 

“Marvelous!” was all the Judge said. 

“The attorneys may be nasty in their examina¬ 
tion,” said Stanley in an undertone, “so protect 
him as much as you can.” 


In the Palace of Sorrows 145 

“I shall,” was all the Judge said, and Stanley 
again resumed his seat. 

During their coversation Howard sat una¬ 
bashed in the range of the old maid’s lorgnettes 
that were leveled upon him. 

“Pie does look like our dead uncle,” she whis¬ 
pered to a relative who sat beside her, “but of 
course he is an impostor.” 

Newspaper men moved closer as if fearful of 
losing a word. 

“Just a moment,” said Stanley, as he again 
arose and took Judge Howell by the arm and led 
him a few steps away from the curious people. 
“I have a feeling the boy is holding something 
from us.” 

“What makes you think so?” 

“I have no reason for thinking as I do,” an¬ 
swered Stanley, “just sort of a premonition.” 

“I shall feel my way,” said the Judge, and then 
turned and walked back to the table near where 
he had been standing. 

When Judge Howell began the examination, 
Stanley drew a chair close to where he stood, and 
when he sat down Anthony Dunlap, Jr., leaned 
over and holding his hand to one side of his mouth 
whispered to Jack Harvey, “I guess our suspicions 
were right.” 


146 


Sulphur Fumes 


Just a wicked smile which curled at one corner 
of his upper lip was his only answer. 

The usual formal questions were asked the 
witness, and then Judge Howell quickly launched 
into the direct examination: 

“When did you first see your father?” he asked 
the witness, and his words seemed cold and stern. 

Before Howard had time to answer the ques¬ 
tion, the nephew’s chief counsel was on his feet 
and offered an objection to the question. 

“It has not been shown that Howard Dunlap 
has a legal right to participate in these proceed- 
mgs. 

Muffled exclamations became louder and louder 
until the gavel again sounded and then many set¬ 
tled back in their seats, each face showing marked 
signs of disapproval. 

“Watch Harvey and McFadden exchange sig¬ 
nals,” whispered an old timer to a man who sat 
next to him. 

“It can’t be possible,” said the listener. 

“Oh, yes, it is. I am an old timer here in the 
diggins. Harvey is a bad one,” and as he spoke 
he saw the listener was interested and continued: 
“The boy is a ‘dead ringer’ for old Dunlap, in 
his looks, but he hasn’t a show in this court”; and 
he told how Harvey conveyed his wishes to Mc¬ 
Fadden. “When Harvey moves his head to the 


In the Palace of Sorrows 


147 


right,” he said, “it conveys one message to the 
Judge and to the left another, and looking up to 
the ceiling means still another thing, and the people 
could not, if they would try, prove he is tamper¬ 
ing with the court;” and perhaps the old timer 
was the only one who had noticed. 

“I withdraw the question,” said Judge Howell, 
before Judge McFadden had time to sustain the 
objection, and at once asked another: 

“You stated your name to be Howard Dunlap, 
did you not?” 

“I object to the question,” said the attorney for 
the defense. “Dunlap is not his name.” 

“Prove that it is not,” suggested Judge Howell, 
with much satisfaction, for it was leading to evi¬ 
dence he wished to educe. “If he is not,” he 
smiled sardonically, “if the witness is committing 
perjury, it is up to you to prove he is doing so, and 
if he is you are at liberty to institute criminal pro¬ 
ceedings,” 

Howard’s face crimsoned, but there were no 
signs of embarrassment till Stanley detected an 
expression of bitterness play over the young face. 

Judge Howell’s smile was one of contempt as 
he turned from the court to where Anthony and 
his followers sat in earnest conversation. 

There was an uncomfortable lull in the pro¬ 
ceedings. Judge McFadden shifted nervously in 


148 


Sulphur Fumes 


his chair and to the spectators seemed just casu¬ 
ally to glance around the court room. The cas¬ 
ualness was all assumed, for he was much troub¬ 
led in mind. Jack Harvey understood and, 
seemingly oblivious to the surroundings, sat qui¬ 
etly looking up at the ceiling. Judge McFadden 
knew the sign and obeyed. Then quickly came 
the words from the bench: 

“The objection is overruled—the witness may 
proceed.” 

There was nothing more to say, for “Yes” had 
given the whole answer, and Judge Howell asked 
another question: 

“When did you first meet Anthony Dunlap, 
Sr.?” 

The defense was noticeably embarrassed and 
the chief counsel for the nephew moved a little 
closer to where Harvey sat. 

“You must not be too raw in cutting out testi¬ 
mony,” he said in an undertone, as he looked over 
his shoulder to where Harvey and the nephew sat. 
“The boy is handsome, and sentiment is liable to 
turn his way.” 

In mild words Howard answered the question 
and told how two or three years previous he had 
crossed the plains to see and to be with his father. 

“I object to all this,” interrupted the attorney 
for the defense. “It is immaterial, irrelevant and 



In tiie Palace of Sorrows 149 

incompetent, and has nothing whatever to do with 
the issue at hand.” 

Jack Harvey’s head turned to the right and 
the objection was sustained, and in a moment 
Judge Howell put the same question in a differ¬ 
ent form. 

“A little over two years ago, you went to the 
home of Anthony Dunlap, Sr., did you not?” 

“Yes,” was the quiet answer. 

“He is doing well,” mused Judge Howell, as 
the boy, in a straightforward manner, answered 
one question after another and at times sat in 
quiet dignity while the attorneys offered objec¬ 
tions and argued many points of law. 

“I was driven from my father’s house,” he said, 
in response to a question by Judge Howell. 

“By whom?” quickly asked the counsel for the 
nephew. 

“By my father and those two men sitting 
there,” he answered, pointing to Harvey and the 
Jew. “My father—” 

“You mean Dunlap?” interrupted the counsel. 

“—sent to his office,” continued Howard, “for 
a tin box in which he kept his papers, and when 
it was brought to him he opened it and read a 
letter it contained and then examined a picture 
that was in the envelope.” 

His expression was appealing as he looked to 


150 Sulphur Fumes 

where his counsel stood. “Must I tell what he 
said?” 

“Yes,” answered Judge Howell, in a fatherly 
manner that encouraged the boy to continue. 

“He was very angry,” he said, and then hesi¬ 
tated again. 

“Go on, please,” interposed the counsel. 

“He lost his temper and spoke very hastily.” 

“Well, what did he say?” interrupted the at¬ 
torney for the defense. “You are encumbering 
the records with a lot of ‘rot’ that is not ma¬ 
terial.” 

“He held the photograph in his hand, steadily 
gazing at it for some time,” said the boy, his face 
crimsoning as he spoke, “and then looked at me 
and said: ‘Yes, I guess you are the boy, but, damn 
you!—why in hell did you come here’?” He 
hesitated, and his eyes rested on the floor until 
Judge Howell implored him to tell what, if any¬ 
thing more, was said at the meeting. “He was 
very indignant and asked me again why I had 
come there.” 

“Anything more?” urged the Judge. 

“He said if it were known I was his son it 
would ruin his standing in the community. Mr. 
Harvey had brought the box into his room and 
my father asked him to see that I left town im¬ 
mediately. Mr. Harvey left the room at once 



In the Palace of Sorrows 


151 


but soon returned with Mr. Kovinsky and that 
night they took me to the outskirts of the camp 
and told me if I ever came back I would be 
killed. I was younger then and their words 
frightened me.” 

“Why did you come back?” sneered the oppos¬ 
ing attorney. 

“I was left alone in the world,” he answered 
hardly above a whisper, “and longed to be near 
or with someone who belonged to me.” 

While he was testifying, the Jew, Kovinsky, 
sat watching the two rows of jurymen who seemed 
tired and listless, but smiled affectionately when 
his eyes met theirs, for Kovinsky was rich and 
they knew he was privately (as many termed it) 
associated with Harvey and Anthony Dunlap, 
Jr., and during the long hours of the trial Mrs. 
Kovinsky had been kind to their wives and moth¬ 
ers and had taken boxes of candy to the children. 

“I must go slowly and prepare for the Supreme 
Court,” thought Judge Howell, when Stanley 
called his attention to something unusual. 

“If your Honor please,” said the nephew’s 
attorney, as he arose to address the court. He 
shrugged his shoulders and straightened his tie as 
if he were about to make a master stroke. “I 
wish to have this boy’s evidence stricken from the 
records.” He hesitated a moment before con- 


152 


Sulphur Fumes 


tinuing, and Judge Howell stood quietly looking 
on. “He has no standing in court. Many men 
have affairs with wanton women, and sometimes 
there is issue—” 

He was interrupted by hissing and “cat-calls” 
in the rear of the room. Simultaneously with the 
commotion in the room Howard, with ashen face, 
sprang from his seat and threw back his coat and 
began to quickly unbutton his vest. 

“Hold hims kavick!—Hold hims kavick! He 
ess goin’ to shoot!” shouted Kovinsky, and the 
bailiff and two deputies rushed forward and 
grabbed Howard by the arm. “Soich him! 
Soich him!” again called the excited man, while 
the nephew crouched on the floor behind Har¬ 
vey’s chair. The gavel in the Judge’s hand 
echoed and re-echoed throughout the room until 
quiet was restored. 

“I shall ask the bailiff to clear the room, if a 
thing like this happens again,” and in severe 
tones, said: “Search the witness!” 

“Rough w r ords for the boy to hear, but practi¬ 
cally an admission of his parentage,” mused 
Judge Howell, as he quietly looked on, and 
thought of the cruel words of the opposing 
counsel. 

In the presence of the excited throng the court 
official searched Howard, who, with head erect 


In the Palace of Sorrows 


153 


and a determined expression on his face, man¬ 
fully submitted to the humiliating procedure. He 
drew back when the bailiff attempted to unbutton 
his shirt, and the expression that quickly passed 
over his face was fearful to see. 

“No, you shall not!” he said bitterly, and again 
attempted to draw back, but was held by the 
bailiff. 

“He has something concealed underneath his 
shirt,” said the bailiff, turning to Judge McFad- 
den, who in turn ordered him to proceed with 
the search. 

Stanley leaned forward and whispered to 
Judge Howell, and then they both were silent 
onlookers while the nephew, with a cynical smile 
bordering on the triumphant, watched the court 
official as he drew a knife from a hip pocket in 
his trousers and cut a cloth bandage that was se¬ 
curely fastened around the boy’s waist and as he 
drew the cloth away, a small package carefully 
wrapped in the same kind of cloth as was the 
bandage, fell to the floor. Howard reached for 
it, but the bailiff pushed him back and the noisy 
crowd who were on their feet and pushing for¬ 
ward, swayed and drew back as if in fear of an 
explosive. 

“Guess we’ve made another master stroke,” 
said the nephew’s chief counsel, as he leaned back 


154 


Sulphur Fumes 


and spoke in an undertone to Harvey and the 
others who had moved closer together in excited 
conversation. 

Judge McFadden unwrapped the package and 
sat with downcast eyes while his fingers ner¬ 
vously fumbled the contents. Books that were 
piled in front of him on the table obstructed the 
view of the curious crowd who anxiously waited 
for him to speak. During the strained moments 
while the Judge sat thumping the table with a 
finger of his right hand, the old man who was 
suspicious of Harvey and the Judge, unobserved 
by others, moved to a seat that had been vacated 
during the excitement and was almost directly 
back of the chair in which Harvey sat. 

“If it pleases your Honor,” said Judge How¬ 
ell, as he arose from his seat and stepped close 
to the bench, “I wish to examine the contents of 
the package.” 

Judge McFadden at once, and with trembling 
hands (for the murmuring sounds in the back of 
the room did not fill him with a sense of security), 
handed them to Howard’s attorney while the boy 
sat anxiously looking on and ready to spring for¬ 
ward should there be an attempt on the part of 
the nephew’s supporters to gain possession of his 
treasures. 


In the Palace of Sorrows 


155 


“May I open the envelope?” said Judge How¬ 
ell, turning to Howard. 

“It contains a letter from my mother,” an¬ 
swered the boy in a clear, manly voice. “You 
and Mr. Weyman may read it—” 

“And so can the rest of us,” interrupted the 
attorney for the defense. 

Howard paid no attention to the speaker but 
continued to address Judge Howell. “The letter 
is sacred to me and I had intended no one should 
see and know its contents but myself.” 

“Read it!” shouted a man from a rear seat, 
and the spectators again became boisterous and 
the Judge was compelled to use the gavel vigor¬ 
ously before order was restored. 

During the confusion, Judge Howell and 
Stanley had quickly scanned the contents of the 
letter. 

“Good evidence,” smiled Stanley, and Judge 
Howell at once offered it in evidence. 

“Oh! Please don’t,” said Howard, as he im¬ 
ploringly held out both hands toward his attorney. 

“For your mother’s sake,” said Judge Howell 
affectionately, and then turned to where Stanley 
sat and, in an undertone, said: “The honor of 
youth.” 

Stanley’s smile was reassuring to the boy and 
his eyes shone with pleasure and admiration for 


156 


Sulphur Fumes 


his young friend who, in the motley concourse, 
stood out like a beautiful flower in a garden over¬ 
grown with weeds. Howard understood the 
meaning of his attorney’s words and without fear 
or further objection sat back in his chair while 
a spirited legal sparring match between the op¬ 
posing counsel was in progress. 

“We object to the admission of this letter in 
evidence,” said the nephew’s chief counsel, after 
he had, with his confederates, read the contents. 

Again there came another call from the back 
of the crowded room, “Read it!” and many 
threats were made in muffled voices. 

“Objection overruled,” said the court, without 
looking to where the nephew and his associates 
were seated, for he was personally interested in 
the temperament of the people in the rear of the 
room. Visions of a coil of rope underneath a 
chair and revolvers reposing in hip pockets came 
to him unbidden. 

“If your Honor pleases,” said Judge Howell, 
“I will read the letter into the records and with 
your permission withdraw the exhibit, for my 
client is very anxious to keep the document in his 
possession.” 

There was a stillness almost weird in the room 
when Judge Howell began to read and many won¬ 
dered why Stanley Weyman had quietly left the 


In the Palace of Sorrows 


157 


room. After reading the letter, Judge Howell 
had asked him to have the secretary of the Dun¬ 
lap Corporation subpoenaed to produce the box 
in which Anthony Dunlap, Sr., had kept his pri¬ 
vate papers. 

“ ‘My father died,’ ” read the Judge, “ ‘when 
I was a young child, and my mother was left in 
straitened circumstances, and she was compelled 
to do menial labor for our sustenance. She ob¬ 
tained the position as housekeeper for Anthony 
Dunlap, who was then a farmer near this vil¬ 
lage’ she went at length into details of her 
life and associations with Anthony Dunlap. 
“ ‘Mr. Dunlap,’ she wrote, ‘made several long 
journeys into the far west and brought back mar¬ 
velous stories of wealth to be found there,’ ” 
and she told of his promise to take her and her 
mother to this El Dorado. “ ‘When I was fifteen 
years of age you were born—and soon after that 
tuberculosis took my mother away.’ ” 

Judge Howell was interrupted by a commotion 
in the rear of the room, for Stanley had entered, 
closely followed by the secretary, carrying the 
time-worn box. The commotion was great, but 
soon subsided after the two had taken seats at a 
table close to where the Judge stood. 

A whispered conversation took place in the de- 


158 


Sulphur Fumes 


fense ranks when they saw the secretary place the 
box on the table in front of him. 

“Where are the keys?” whispered Harvey to 
the nephew, who sat with dilated eyes that be¬ 
spoke great fear. 

“I left them in the vault,” he answered. 

A contemptuous curl of the upper lip was 
Harvey’s only reply and then he sat silently listen¬ 
ing as Judge Howell continued to read: 

“ ‘I have written to your father to take you 
after I am gone and have sent your picture with 
the letter. I know I have given you a heavy cross 
to bear.’ ” 

The atmosphere was tense and some who 
crowded the room had again risen from their 
seats. 

“ ‘The two daguerreotypes I am leaving with 
this letter are of your father and myself, and 
were taken just before your birth.’ ” 

Judge Howell then offered the two photographs 
Judge McFadden had unwrapped in evidence and 
then passed them to the opposing counsel for in¬ 
spection. 

“We admit one of them to be the picture of 
Dunlap,” said the nephew’s chief counsel, “that’s 
all.” 

They were marked and withdrawn and handed 
to Howard and then the boy told in detail the 


In the Palace of Sorrows 159 

story of his last visit to the camp, and after that 
Judge Howell continued to read: 

“ ‘The laws of God gave you the name 
“Dunlap,” for Anthony Dunlap is your father 
and I gave you the name of Howard, for it was 
my father’s name.’ ” 

“I object to the admission of this letter as it 
has not been identified as a letter written by Dun¬ 
lap’s mistress.” 

“It was not written by ‘Dunlap’s mistress’!” 
said Howard excitedly, as he sprang to his feet. 
“It was written by one of his victims. One night,” 
he continued in a more quiet tone but with a deep 
flush passing over his boyish face, “I sat on the 
opposite side of our small table preparing my 
lessons for the following day, while my mother, 
in the light of the one candle that burned for 
both of us, wrote that letter. We were poor and 
couldn’t afford much light.” 

“The objection is sustained,” said the Court 
with downcast eye and no comment. He was 
noticeably downcast as he sustained the objection 
and sat trembling between two fears—Jack Har¬ 
vey’s crowd and the desperate court room loung¬ 
ers, for many desperate characters were there. 

Judge Howell spoke up quickly: “In the in¬ 
terest of truth and justice, I ask you to recon¬ 
sider,” and an uproar of “Yes” followed his re- 


160 


Sulphur Fumes 


mark, “and do not place an everlasting stigma 
on the courts of our section of a wonderful 
country.” 

The calls in the room were many and loud and 
drowned the sullen, murmured threats in the rear 
of the room. The Judge, not looking to where 
Harvey sat, with ashen face, reversed himself 
and a cheer of approval followed. 

Harvey and Kovinsky sat in earnest conversa¬ 
tion with the nephew and his chief counsel and 
they were noticeably agitated. The old timer 
who had moved close behind Harvey leaned for¬ 
ward just a little and it seemed to those who sat 
close by he was easing a tight shoe. 

“Make any promises that will please anyone 
who can help us,” whispered Harvey, while half 
covering his mouth with his hand. “It ain’t 
necessary to keep them.” 

“Yist leaf zi churys to me,” said the Jew, as- 
suringly. “My wife haf been in society’s efery 
since zi case begins,” and a knowing smile played 
over his heavy features as he finished speaking. 

“I again object,” said the counsel for the 
nephew and his voice seemed hard and com¬ 
manding as he spoke, “and ask that this testi¬ 
mony be stricken from the records.” 

Judge McFadden’s manner showed he had re¬ 
covered from his nervousness and his eyes trav- 


In the Palace of Sorrows 


161 


eled over the court room. Just as they were 
about to rest on Jack Harvey’s face, the old- 
timer’s foot carefully moved forward and a pin 
that had been inserted in the toe of his shoe came 
in contact with Harvey, who quickly moved for¬ 
ward on his chair and looked around to see who 
had perpetrated the schoolboy trick. Judge 
McFadden mistook the turn of Harvey’s head as 
a signal and overruled the counsel’s objection. 

Stanley Weyman was next called and corrobo¬ 
rated Howard inasmuch as his testimony in re¬ 
gard to his last visit was concerned. 

“That is all,” said Judge Howell, and the 
counsel for the nephew answered disdainfully: 

“We do not wish to cross-examine the wit¬ 
ness.” 

“Just one moment, if the Court pleases,” said 
Judge Howell, rising from where he had taken a 
seat. “I wish to swear the secretary of the Dun¬ 
lap Corporation merely for the examination and 
identification of the contents of this box,” and as 
he spoke he pointed to the tin box that stood on 
the table in front of the chair in which the secre¬ 
tary sat. 

Harvey, with a knowing smile, nudged the 
nephew, who sat between Kovinsky and himself, 
and then for a moment leaned forward and whis- 


162 


Sulphur Fumes 


pered to the chief counsel who immediately, in a 
nonchalant voice said: 

“There is no objection,” and then feigned indif¬ 
ference as he folded and laid aside some papers 
that lay on the table in front of him. 

Judge McFadden’s nervous eyes, seemingly 
oblivious to the surroundings, slowly traveled over 
the room and then he leaned back in his chair and 
said with much languor: 

“It is nearing the noon hour and I would suggest 
that we adjourn until two o’clock, at which hour I 
will hear evidence in rebuttal.” 

Some spectators exchanged knowing glances as 
they passed from the room and others did not 
leave their seats, for they knew the court room 
would be crowded to overflowing for the afternoon 
session. Many asked friends to bring them a 
morsel of something to eat when they returned. 
“Just something to appease my hunger,” said 
an aged woman to a young man passing out. “I 
will save you a seat.” 


Chapter XIV 
A Price for Honor 


P RECISELY AT TWO O’CLOCK, Judge 
McFadden entered the room from a rear 
door leading into his chambers, and court 
at once convened for the last hours of the much 
talked-of case. His gavel sounded loudly 
throughout the room before the whispering and 
buzzing sounds of undertone talking subsided. 

The nephew and his coterie were in their ac¬ 
customed places, and in the first two rows of seats 
sat the relatives in sombre garb. 

The eyes of all were riveted on Howard 
who sat between Stanley and Judge Howell, and 
close to the table the judge had used during the 
proceedings. 

“Will Adolph Kovinsky take the stand?” said 
the chief counsel for the defense, as he arose from 
his seat and moved close to the witness chair. 

Kovinsky leaned over and whispered to Harvey 
“Keep your eyes pealt,” and he was noticeably 
nervous as he watched the onlookers, for he had 
many enemies in the camp. People whom he had 
ruined financially and fathers and brothers of 


164 


Sulphur Fumes 


girls he had influenced. He was spoken of 
throughout the country as a moral leopard, for 
he changed his spots as often as the occasion de¬ 
manded, and that was quite often, for tainted 
wealth used him for corruption and he was con¬ 
sidered an expert at jury-bribing and the com¬ 
mon forms of crime that saturated the camp, 
where politicians suddenly acquired wealth and 
where many public officials lived in luxury on 
small salaries. 

“Mr. Kovinsky,” began the examining attor¬ 
ney, “were you at the Dunlap home the night of 
Mr. Dunlap’s death?” 

“Yes, sir. I vos there.” 

“Was this boy, who styles himself ‘Howard 
Dunlap,’ there?” said the attorney, turning and 
pointing to where Howard sat. 

“No, sir. I see me no ones like him.” 

Judge Howell leaned back in his chair and, with 
half-closed eyelids, watched the witness as he 
spoke in painfully broken English. 

Stanley leaned forward and whispered to him: 
“Do you wonder why the camp has such a rotten 
name, and why many honorable people shun the 
place ?” 

There was no response from the Judge’s lips 
but his right hand stole over and clasped that of 
the boy and the warmth helped Howard to 


A Price for Honor 


165 


understand more fully the enormity of crime and 
the helplessness of a person in courts where per¬ 
jury thrives. 

“Mr. Kovinsky,” and he hesitated a moment 
before continuing, for unencouraging sounds came 
to him from the rear of the crowded room— 
sounds like murmured threats, “in your own way, 
will you tell the jury how you happened to be 
there ?” 

“I hear me the olt man vos dying,” he said, 
“an’ I vont me to be arount ven he diet for he al¬ 
ways called me hees sons, an’ I vanted to be arount 
ven he diet—” 

Tittering sounds from the back of the room 
disquieted him. 

“Go on, please,” encouraged the attorney when 
the witness hesitated and when the attorney spoke 
Judge Howell said to himself: “What’s the use 
of offering objections?” 

“I valked me up ze streets an’ before I goes 
me into ze houses I looks me into ze windows an’ 
Mr. Harvey, he vas in, and ze nephew vas holtin’ 
hims up an’ Mr. Harvey vas a-puttin’ him on ze 
shoulders an’ ven ze olt man sees me a-lookin’ in 
ze windows, he holts oud hees hants an’ says (and 
in his earnest endeavor to make his testimony 
strong, he made a gesture indicative of the dying 
man holding out his arms imploringly, but it was 


166 


Sulphur Fumes 


the contortion of the bargainer), ‘My sons!’ and 
ven he says it, he diet kavick.” 

He was interrupted by loud catcalls and jeering 
from the excited spectators and to one who had 
been abroad, the scene was like many enacted in 
the criminal courts of Paris when gendarmes are 
called in to clear the room,—the bailiff was power¬ 
less in this instance, but after much pounding of 
the Court’s gavel, the audience settled down to 
sullen quiet, and the attorney for the defense 
quickly said: 

“That is all.” 

Judge Howell at once replied, with disgust 
akin to contempt showing in each word: 

“I do not care to examine the witness for I can 
plainly see to what extent he has been coached!” 

Jack Harvey took the stand and followed 
merely as corroborant, and then the question of 
arguments arose. 

“I do not care to argue the case,” said Judge 
Howell, without rising from his seat, and the 
attorneys for the defense, also those repre¬ 
senting the sorrowing relatives, were glad to 
acquiesce. 

Judge McFadden shifted nervously in his chair 
and then began in low tones : 

“I am as ready now to instruct the jury as I 
would be two weeks from now.” 


A Price for Honor 167 

“Sure!” came a loud call, but he feigned indif¬ 
ference and continued: 

“I have followed the evidence closely and have 
made many notes and feel that I have the case 
well in hand.” 

“He’s a ‘peach,’ ” whispered the sullen Harvey 
to the nephew. 

The old-timer who sat close by said to a man 
who sat beside him: “Sometimes ‘peaches’ sell 
high!” The words were spoken in an undertone 
but meant to be loud enough for Harvey and the 
nephew to hear. They did hear and those close 
by noticed the nephew’s shoulders wince. 

“I shall first take up the matter of the person 
claiming to be the illegitimate son of Anthony 
Dunlap, Sr.,” said the court, in continuing his 
address. “His testimony was verbose in his desire 
to influence you. The letter purporting to have 
been written by his mother has not been suf¬ 
ficiently identified—we only have his words for 
it, and the story of his looking through the window 
into the dimly lighted room of the deceased has 
been wholly discredited by the testimony of Mr. 
Kovinsky, whose story of the memorable night 
was corroborated by Mr. Harvey, who is a well 
known and honored citizen of the camp. From 
the first, I have questioned the veracity of the 


168 


Sulphur Fumes 


young boy, and will now ask you to erase his 
testimony from your minds.” 

Again the gavel sounded vigorously and when 
quiet was restored, the Judge continued: 

“The relatives of the deceased, who have come 
from far and near, I fear are to face a dreadful 
disappointment, for in each one’s testimony there 
was nothing to show Anthony Dunlap, Jr., had 
not been given the stock that represents the con¬ 
trolling interest in the Dunlap Corporation. It is 
true the stock was not transferred on the books of 
the Corporation but Mr. Harvey was a witness to 
the gift and Ole Hanson, in his testimony, said he 
entered the room just as Anthony Dunlap, Sr., 
was handing something to his nephew, and Mr. 
Harvey tells you it was the stock, so I ask 
you to bring in your findings for the defendant, for 
it was a gift causa mortis ” The nephew’s head 
was bowed during the instructions to the jury, and 
Harvey had moved his chair around so that the 
spectators might not see the young man's mixed 
expression. 

Few left the court room while the jury were 
deliberating. “It’ll be a short session,” laughed a 
“wag” in the rear of the room, and the majority of 
the people took the cue and kept their seats when 
the jury retired. They were out only fifteen 
minutes and when they returned to the box, the 


A Price for Honor 169 

foreman immediately gave a decision in favor of 
the nephew. 

When they entered the room, there was a pain¬ 
ful silence among the uncouth people who filled 
the place almost to suffocation, some coming 
wholly through morbid curiosity, some to study 
characters and listen to the miscarriage of justice. 

The tittering girl was there to get a glimpse of 
Howard, and there were those who were paid by 
the nephew and his followers to tell of his beauti¬ 
ful traits of character, and what he would do for 
the community, if successful in his litigation. 

It was a sort of throbbing silence that filled the 
room—a silence that suggested something was 
going to happen, and a moment after the decision 
came, the storm broke forth: 

“Lynch ’em!—Lynch ’em!” rang through the 
room, and during the pandemonium that followed 
the Judge was spirited away through a rear door, 
while Howard and Stanley quietly and unobserved 
by the majority of the excited people left the court 
room and two days later reined in at Sunrise 
Ranch. 

It was the twilight hour of a beautiful day and 
Howard was glad to be home again, and Stanley 
was much pleased to see the cowboys and others 
connected with the ranch, flock around to greet 
Howard Stillman, as he was known to them. 



Chapter XV 

Twenty Years Have Passed 


T WENTY YEARS had passed since the 
death of Anthony Dunlap, Sr., and his 
memory and memorable proceedings fol¬ 
lowing had taken on the gloss of legend. 

Anthony Dunlap, Jr., now a man in middle 
life, with many heart scars that weakened him 
both physically and mentally, sat before an open 
fireplace where pine knots burned, snapping and 
spitting starlike sparks as they threw out warmth 
in the cheerless room. It was in the late summer, 
but evenings in the mountains are cool, and in this 
home fire was necessary when the shadows grew 
long, for the man’s blood was thin. 

He was all alone in the sparsely furnished 
apartment, and sat silently traveling down the 
“road to yesterday.” His closest friend, Jack 
Harvey, had recently passed to the great beyond. 
His going had left a void in the man’s life and 
each day found him in a more enfeebled mental 
condition. His nerve tension had let down and 
a haze spread over his mentality. During the 
past twenty years his deceased friend had buoyed 


Twenty Years Have Passed 171 


him through many trying scenes. This night 
found him physically exhausted, and the trying 
hours spent in court that day had recalled much 
of the past that he had hoped to forget. 

“They dance before me like red devils,” he 
said half aloud as a shudder like cold electricity 
passed through his frail body. He realized how * 
serious his condition was and had asked to have 
a conservator appointed to take charge of his 
affairs, and that was what had occupied his time 
all day. 

Love had won a victory over wealth, and three 
years previous, while his only child—a beautiful 
young girl of sixteen—was in an eastern seminary, 
his wife deserted him and joined her lover who 
had made a home on an island in the South Seas. 
In time a divorce was granted him, thus leaving 
his daughter his only heir. She had just returned 
from a visit to a young girl friend, who had been 
her roommate at school—a daughter of Richard 
Nichols, owner of Sunrise Ranch. They had been 
inseparable at school, and the happy friendship 
continued after school-days had passed. 

Before leaving for her friend’s home, her 
father had asked her not to be known as Beatrice 
Dunlap, but to take an assumed name. “There 
are always some fellows around looking for 
money,” he said to her, “and you know we are 




172 


Sulphur Fumes 


supposed to be worth a great deal more than we 
are, and I don’t want some ‘shark’ making love to 
you.” She wrote to her friend to that effect and 
asked to be called “Beatrice Dawn.” “You 
know,” she wrote, “we must call each other by our 
given names.” Her friend thought it a great lark, 
• and the two girls played the part admirably; but 
all too soon Beatrice was called home by her 
father’s counsel for the purpose of consulting and 
advising with her in regard to appointing a guar¬ 
dian for the feeble man. 

The young attorney, Norman Hawley, in whose 
hands the matter had been placed, was a man who 
had grown up in the west and much of his life 
had been spent in the camp. He had succeeded 
Henry Hayward, the chief counsel, who handled 
matters for Anthony Dunlap at the memorable 
hearing of the Dunlap Corporation case, but had 
passed away a few years after the case was settled. 

This day, after court proceedings, Beatrice took 
her father home and then returned to the at¬ 
torney’s office, for he had asked her to come there 
and go into some details that had not been made 
court records, and matters he wished and thought 
it better she should know. 

Kovinsky, had made formidable threats and 
had offered strenuous objections to the appoint¬ 
ment of a conservator, claiming the proceedings 


Twenty Years Have Passed 


173 


to be a scheme to avoid paying some debts of 
honor. Knowing the nature of the “debts of 
honor” the Jew mentioned, the young attorney had 
advised Mr. Dunlap to leave the matter of the 
appointment of a guardian to the Judge before 
whom the hearing was to come. 

Judge McFadden had long since retired and 
was living on a beautiful estate that caused know¬ 
ing smiles to pass over faces of people who passed 
b y . 

“The young judge is honest,” the attorney had 
said, “so let’s take a chance”; and, after many 
arguments pro and con, Anthony Dunlap con¬ 
sented. 

“You have been a subject for blackmail,” the 
attorney had argued, “ever since you came into 
wealth”; and he told him how all people knew it 
and he feared criticism would be cast upon any¬ 
one they might suggest. 

To Adolph Kovinsky the appointment of a con¬ 
servator to handle the affairs of the former friend 
was like closing an avenue for blackmail—this 
fact alone caused his great activity in opposition 
to the appointment. 

When court adjourned the Judge retired to his 
chambers for meditation and to review the evi¬ 
dence that had been offered—and that was volu¬ 
minous. He had promised to render a decision 


174 


Sulphur Fumes 


that day and some had remained in the court-room 
adjoining the building in which Mr. Hawley’s of¬ 
fices were, and it was while waiting for a de¬ 
cision that Beatrice and the attorney went over 
many matters, and he, in a guarded manner, told 
her why an appointment was necessary. 

“Miss Dunlap, your father will die intestate,” 
he began. “I asked him some weeks ago if he 
wished to make a will, and his answer was ‘No !’— 
and he told me you would inherit everything.” 

He sat in silence for some moments. Beatrice 
w r as the first to speak: “Mr. Hawley, you may 
tell me everything. I know my father has been 
a great sufferer mentally, and at times has fears 
for his life. He has changed much since Mr. 
Harvey’s death—I do not mean he is morose, for 
he is just the opposite—no peevish temper, but 
sort of a let-down, almost a morbid state; I say 
morbid, but that does not seem just right. His 
drawing away from people is dislike, but it has 
only been so lately—timidity would more fully 
suggest the condition.” 

The attorney knew and sat silently studying 
the young woman as she spoke. “What a beauti¬ 
ful creature,” he thought as he listened to the well 
modulated voice and looked into the large, dreamy 
eyes that searched his face for knowledge she 
wished to gain. She showed all the nicety a well 



Twenty Years Have Passed 175 


chaperoned girl should possess; always modestly 
gowned but exquisite in simplicity, and was a type 
of beauty that suggested a trace of Spanish blood. 
She was not tall, neither was she petite, but just 
such an American girl who loves to say: “I am 
an American!” and one who has spent much time 
in the big open life of the West. She was a good 
horsewoman, during her time in the saddle, 
riding the range with the cowboys. She often 
threw the lariat over a maverick’s head and 
held him while the boys plied the brand-iron—and 
yet with it all, a womanly sweetness, like a dainty 
flower, perfumed the surroundings. But this day, 
a seriousness spread over the girlish face, making 
it more beautiful, if that could be possible. “Can 
I tell her all?” thought Norman, as he sat listen¬ 
ing to the pure voice that carried him far away 
from things material. “No,” he mused, “it is not 
necessary,” and again his mind floated away from 
the criminal doings of the riotous camp. 

“You do not tell me anything,” she said, inter¬ 
rupting his reverie. 

She had just finished speaking when a loud 
knock came at the door leading from the hall into 
the outer office, and Norman quickly responded. 
A messenger handed him a sealed envelope. He 
hurriedly broke the seal and read the contents, 
then returned to the room where Beatrice sat. 


176 


Sulphur Fumes 


“Your father has been declared incompetent,’' 
he said evasively, “and his affairs placed in the 
hands of the Divide Trust Company.” 

For a moment she sat with downcast eyes and 
Norman detected a slight tremor of the lips. 

“Is that satisfactory to you?'’ she asked, rais¬ 
ing her eyes straight to his. 

“Yes,” he answered seriously. “It is much 
better than an individual,” and he explained some 
of the many reasons. 

“Tell me, Mr. Flawley, is my father a crim¬ 
inal?” Her eyelids half closed and an expression 
akin to bitterness passed over her face as she 
spoke the words. 

From the change that enveloped the beautiful 
face and the tone of each word she spoke, Nor¬ 
man understood the agony of heart and the cast¬ 
ing aside of pride to know the truth, and he 
quickly answered, “No!” Then hesitated again, 
for he knew he was prevaricating. The few 
words that followed set him more at ease, for it 
gave him an opportunity to evade the direct ques¬ 
tion she had asked. 

“Mr. Hawley, do you remember the large glass 
ball Mr. Harvey used to have on his desk?” she 
asked, seeming to change the subject entirely. 

Norman grasped the opportunity to side-track 
other matters. “Yes, Miss Dunlap,” he answered 


Twenty Years Have Passed 177 


with laughing eyes, “but it was not exactly glass; 
it was, or, it is,” he corrected himself, “a very 
expensive crystal.” 

“Two days before Mr. Harvey died,” she in¬ 
terrupted, “he gave it to my father and it seems 
to be the greatest solace he has. He plays with 
it like a child with a toy and often falls asleep 
with it in his hands.” 

They were silent for some moments and in that 
short space of time Norman decided it would be 
better for him to tell her the truth of some things 
that a lack of knowledge of, or hearing them from 
others, might prove disastrous in days or years 
to come. 

“A few moments ago,” he began cautiously, 
“you asked me if your father was a criminal—” 
he hesitated again and, as he had done before, sat 
for a short space of time silently gazing into her 
inquiring eyes—“I think the question should be 
answer must be ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ Jack Harvey 

Fear came into those wonderful eyes as he 
spoke, and lowering them, she softly said “Yes” 
to his words that were not a question but a sug¬ 
gestion from a legal mind and from a heart that 
was filled with a desire to help a beautiful flower 
he had found struggling for sunshine in the bar¬ 
ren camp. 

“He was and he was not,” he began, “and my 


178 


Sulphur Fumes 


answer must be ‘yes’ and ‘no’ — Jack Harvey 
wielded a powerful hypnotic influence over your 
father. He often used it in a criminal way and 
I am not surprised when you tell me he gave the 
crystal ball to your father—” 

“Mr. Hawley,” she again interrupted, “I do 
not understand. Tell me all—make things clear 
to me!” she said, imploringly. “I must know be¬ 
cause it will help me. Tell me the truth—I’m 
strong and the truth will be better than sus¬ 
pense.” 

“I will,” he said, still intently watching the eyes 
that had raised and were anxiously looking into 
his. He told her in a guarded way how Harvey 
had held her father under his influence, “and that 
accounts for the great change coming over your 
father when Mr. Harvey died. Death broke the 
spell,” he said seriously, “and that is what caused 
the letting down of the nerve tension; but he had 
done the criminal work and left your father pre¬ 
maturely old and a ruined man mentally—and al¬ 
most financially. The appointment of a con¬ 
servator will save a little out of the wreck— 
enough to take care of you, anyway, and see him 
through.” 

While she listened, she recalled her father’s 
words of caution before she went to visit at Sun¬ 
rise Ranch. 




Twenty Years Have Passed 179 


“He is not a drinking man, Mr. Hawley,” she 
interrupted. 

“Neither is he a drug addict, as many have 
thought,” answered Norman. “Your father is 
what science terms a ‘crystal gazer.’ Harvey 
taught him the art of self hypnosis while he lived, 
Miss Dunlap.” His voice was soft and low as he 
spoke. “I have watched your father for a long 
time. He is not as much of a criminal as the 
public thinks. His will power was never strong 
and he was an easy victim for Harvey, who skill¬ 
fully plied his arts to fill his own coffer out of the 
tainted wealth your father acquired.” 

“Was my father a thief?” she quickly inter¬ 
rupted; and when Norman saw tears come to her 
eyes, he reproached himself for having gone so 
far in unfolding knowledge of things of the past. 

“I do not understand what you mean when you 
say my father is a ‘crystal gazer’—will you tell 
me ?” 

“Yes,” he smiled, “if you will promise me you 
will not try it yourself.” 

Norman’s hair was tinged with gray, but the 
white intruders were premature in their coming. 
He was not a youth, but at a time of life when 
the blood runs riot through the veins and life is 
appreciated in the fullest, and the sweet personal¬ 
ity of Beatrice held him like a prisoner in arbored 


180 


Sulphur Fumes 


paths that lead through a garden of fascinating 
bloom and where soft perfume fills the air. 

“Crystal gazing is self-impression,” he began. 

“But what is self-impression?” she asked. “I 
fear I am dreadfully stupid.” 

“Not at all,” he said, reaching across the small 
table and patting her on the back of her hand that 
rested on some papers they had been looking over. 
She drew her hand away and he knew he had, in 
his impulsiveness, crossed the barrier of propriety. 
He had forgotten he was only her father’s at¬ 
torney and, with flushed face, quickly continued: 
“It is auto-suggestion,” he said, turning his eyes 
from the listener, “for ‘auto’ means ‘self’ and the 
word ‘suggestion’ means ‘impression.’ One can 
hypnotize oneself if he understands the art.” 

His eyes again turned to where Beatrice sat 
and he was again her father’s attorney, for will 
power had mastered the emotion of a few mo¬ 
ments before. 

“I have always felt that the big diamond on 
the bosom of Mr. Harvey’s flannel shirt attracted 
and held many minds weaker than his. Still, there 
is a contradiction, for statistics show a mentally 
strong person is more easily hypnotized than a 
weak one. The great danger of hypnotism is 
that through it many hold others for criminal 
purposes.’*’ 


Twenty Years Have Passed 181 

His words came fast as he went into details in 
an endeavor to hide from Beatrice thoughts that 
were uppermost in his mind. 

“Perhaps self-hypnosis is a blessing at times, 
for in a sense it is harmless to the body and does 
not ruin the intellect, as do drugs and liquor. 
What has upset your father’s mentality is the 
fearful realization of the enormity of the crimes 
he committed while under Harvey’s influence— 
an influence that death alone could break—and to 
deaden that pulling at the heart-strings he resorts 
to the crystal.” 

Beatrice sat as if in a trance while he spoke in 
what she thought were cold and material words. 

“The ‘crystal gazer’ places the brilliant globe, 
or ball, in a pleasing light and then sits steadily 
gazing into it. He soon becomes psychic—a 
lapse into a dreamy state—and he is oblivious of 
the sorrows of the world, and the haze suffusing 
his brain shuts out things material.” 

A chill passed through her body when he fin¬ 
ished speaking, and she arose from her chair as 
if to leave the room. 

“How dreadful it all is!” she said, as she 
turned to Norman and held out her hand in 
farewell. 


182 


Sulphur Fumes 


Her hand in the palm of his seemed tiny as 
he, forgetting all else, held it while he spoke: 

“Did I understand you to say you are to return 
to Sunrise Ranch for a further visit?” 

“Yes, Mr. Hawley, after my father has settled 
down into the daily routine of his new condition 
of affairs I shall return to the ranch for a visit 
and to attend a girl friend’s wedding.” 

“Miss Dunlap,” said Norman, and he spoke 
in low, serious tones, “do not try to influence your 
father to give up his unusual habit. He hasn’t 
many years to live, so let him drown the past as 
much as possible.” 

She gave him her promise, and, with a sad 
smile, left the room. 


Chapter XVI 


Crystal Gazing and the Land 
of Dreams 


I T WAS NEARING the twilight hour when 
Beatrice left the attorney’s office and passed 
out on the sidewalk to where people were 
hurrying to and fro, some with dinner buckets in 
their hands going on shift; others, tired and 
grimy-looking, coming from the mouth of a tun¬ 
nel in the mountain or the opening of a shaft or 
an incline where they had gone down into the 
dark depths hours before—the candle, fastened 
over the visor of their helmet-like cap, half 
burned away and the tallow sticking in hardened 
bits on their jumpers. 

When she reached the walk she hesitated like 
one dazed. “I do not know which way to turn,” 
she sadly mused, as she placed her fingers to her 
quivering lips, “for I dare not face my father 
just at present.” 

While in Mr. Hawley’s office she had, in a 
measure, mastered the commotion in her heart, 
but she could no longer repress it and it gave way 
like the exhaust of an engine and her eyes were 


184 


Sulphur Fumes 


veiled in a mist of tears while she looked up and 
down the street. 

“Where can I go to get away from this 
throng?” she asked herself, half aloud; for shop¬ 
pers were coming from stores that never closed 
and jazz music came from gambling houses and 
saloons that stood side by side with milliner shops 
and haberdashers where gaudy wares were dis¬ 
played, and one opened beside the door of a bank 
near where she was standing. Her feverish 
hands were clasped in front of her and her fin¬ 
gers tightly entwined, one with the other. Each 
moment the crimson glow of the setting sun took 
on a more purplish hue. A stiff breeze had 
cleared the air and the lights on the streets 
sparkled like jewels as they broke forth one by 
one, and while she stood in indecision, search¬ 
lights began their nightly work and “stink piles” 
gave a weird light as they smouldered near a cas¬ 
cade of fire that reminded one of Dante’s Inferno. 
It was the dumping of molten slag from a trestle 
above precipitating tanks where hot sulphurated 
water from the mines steamed while it flowed, 
casting out a Satanic odor that suggested the at¬ 
mosphere of hell. 

“I might as well go home,” she sighed, and 
then turned and slowly walked through the crowd 
where many idlers stood on the edge of the walk 


Crystal Gazing 


185 


looking around, some talking with others who 
stood close by. Some were strangers—interested 
onlookers, and many homesick and disheartened 
boys stood dreaming of what might have been. 

“My father is only one among many,” she 
thought, as she slowly walked along. “I cannot 
treat him just like a piece of broken clay.” 

When she entered the desolate home, he was 
anxiously awaiting her coming. She had often 
wished she might make the home more attrac¬ 
tive, but it was always a question of money. 
“How much did it cost?” was invariably asked 
when she made a purchase, no matter how small, 
and she became discouraged and lived on as best 
she could. 

“Daughter,” he said, and then hesitated and 
sat watching her changed expression that even he, 
in his fragile mental state, detected. “What have 
they done?” he at last asked in tones hardly 
audible. 

“Father, we will talk about that after I have 
prepared your evening meal.” 

He sat quietly watching her while she removed 
her wraps and his eyes followed her as she passed 
out of the room and into the kitchen. He had 
hardly changed his position when she returned 
carrying a tray upon which was a pot of tea, some 
toast and a dish of preserves. 



186 


Sulphur Fumes 


“I have brought your tray to you, father. 
Mary is busy with other duties,” she said, plac¬ 
ing the long lacquered salver on the table near 
where he sat. 

When he saw but one cup he said inquiringly, 
“But where is yours?” 

“I do not care for anything, tonight,” she an¬ 
swered, as she poured his tea and arranged the 
other things for his convenience. He did not 
touch his food at first, for his eyes followed her 
as she took from a small drop-leaf table a piece 
of unfinished work and drew a chair close to the 
table where he sat. 

“Father, take your tea,” she said, affection¬ 
ately, and then threaded her needle with a pale 
blue silk she drew from a braided strand and 
tightened the linen in her embroidery hoops. 

“Will you tell me, now,” said the feeble man, 
as he slowly sipped his tea, “what decision the 
Judge came to?” 

“He placed your affairs in the hands of the 
Divide Trust Company,” she answered, without 
looking up from her work. 

“What?” he almost shrieked, “Stanley Wey- 
man is President of that Company!” 

“I did not know that, Father. I have never 
met Mr. Weyman, but Mr. Hawley says he is an 
honorable man.” 


Crystal Gazing 


187 


“Yes, I guess he is,” he said in more subdued 
tones, almost sullen, but the resigned state lasted 
for but a moment and then again the nerves gave 
way. “My, God!—don’t let’s talk about it.” 

“But you left it with the Judge,” said Beatrice, 
trying to calm him. 

“Damn it! I know it! But the mention of 
this man’s name brings back the red devils and 
they dance before me and jeer at me and I can 
almost imagine I feel the pain of their spears as 
they stick them in my side and grin while shaking 
their horned heads.” 

He became more excited, and, with trembling 
hands, pushed the tray from him. 

“Oh, my God! I don’t want to eat.” 

Without further words Beatrice removed the 
tray and when she returned from the kitchen she 
found him sitting with his arms resting on the 
table and his hands caressing the crystal globe. 
The awful suggestion Norman had made came 
to her troubled brain, and she did not attempt to 
influence him, but sat quietly embroidering frail 
forget-me-nots and dreaming of the happy days 
spent with her girl friend at Sunrise Ranch. In 
her dreams she walked beside a mountain stream 
and crossed above its sparkling waters, jumping 
from rock to rock with a cowboy at her side, and 
she rode the range with that same cowboy and 


188 


Sulphur Fumes 


she dreamed of wild hunts and recalled many 
pretty sayings of her boy friend. 

With a start she laid down her work. “Oh!” 
she said almost aloud. “I, too, am a criminal— 
I’m dishonest!” and she sat like a frightened 
fawn staring into space. “I’m not Beatrice 
Dawn,” and she silently argued with her guilty 
conscience and at last decided it would be neces¬ 
sary to keep the name during the coming visit. 
“My friend must be protected,” she mused, “for 
she introduced me to her family and friends as 
‘Beatrice Dawn,’ ” and she again took up her 
work. In the cheerless room in the moments that 
followed one sat “crystal gazing” while the other 
was in the “Land of Dreams.” 


Chapter XVII 

At the Month of a Canyon 

A T THE MOUTH of a canyon, nine miles 
across a barren stretch of country 
“ overgrown with cactus and sage-brush and 
broken here and there by a road-house fac¬ 
ing the winding highway leading to a camp on 
the side of a granite mountain, a lone rider ner¬ 
vously walked his horse back and forth. He kept 
to the side of the main road where the stage from 
Virginia City passed. He had stopped at a long, 
rambling, log building that stood just outside the 
mouth of the canyon and was familiarly known 
as “The Nine Mile House.” It was two stories 
in some parts, but mostly a rambling, one-story, 
sod-roofed place — a stage station and a resort 
where people from the camp gathered for recre¬ 
ation and engaged a room for late hours in the 
night and then rode on; and when the sound of 
an approaching vehicle came to his ears he 
quickly guided his horse into the shadows but kept 
close enough to the road to recognize a passer-by 
in the mystic light that comes at the close of day. 
Near where he reined in, he could see the phan- 


190 


Sulphur Fumes 


tom outlines of miners’ deserted cabins and he 
found himself repeating half-aloud a few lines of 
verse: 

At twilight here the world is mystic, 

And the purple canyon seems 
Brooding o’er the empty cabins 
Ghostly in the pale moonbeams. 

Here they flocked when life was cruel, 

Rough, hard men of rugged mould, 

Driven to earth’s farthest places 

In their quest for harder gold. 

* 

But tonight stars blink and quiver, 

And trees, whispering, seem to say, 

“When gold failed, they quickly left us 
Here in solitude to stay.” 

“What wonderful coloring,” he mused as the 
sunset light came through an hiatus in the moun¬ 
tains and rested on granite boulders and high 
ledges of rock, and the glossy leaves of trees 
sparkled like jewels as stars broke through from 
above. Across the canyon from where wild and 
picturesque characters had panned gold, spark¬ 
ling waterfalls sang in the evening’s quiet, and 
nature seemed a fairy-land with elfins flitting 
through space. 

He sat in dreamland for a few moments and 


At the Mouth of a Canyon 


191 


then, slowly, turned his horse towards the mouth 
of the canyon but soon reined in again, for the 
lights in the windows of the road-house were on 
and suddenly changed his trend of thought and 
he unconsciously turned his eyes back to the de¬ 
serted cabins and then again to the lights of the 
resort that seemed weird in the crimson twilight 
fast blending into deeper shades of night, and 
his thoughts were mingled. 

“I wonder how much of their hard-earned 
gold went to that resort.” He thought of the 
days when all classes gathered in pleasant inter¬ 
course around gambling boards, when society 
women “lined” up at the bar with queens of the 
“red-light” and men-of-affairs and “secretaries” 
from the “underworld” stood in pleasant inter¬ 
course while watching the marble ball of the rou¬ 
lette table and listening to the rat-a-tat of the 
tiny bit of ivory as it dodged the pins on its 
downward course; and when the motley concourse 
in the dance-hall close by joined in “high-jinks” 
of the liveliest character, swaying to the seduc¬ 
tive strains of a “quarter-in-the-slot” musical in¬ 
strument. 

Suddenly his reverie was broken and he leaned 
forward in his saddle and intently listened, for 
in the crisp night air sounds carry far. It was 
the striking of horses’ hoofs on the hard road, 


192 


Sulphur Fumes 


and, as the clattering grew more distinct, he knew 
it was a single rider and coming fast. He turned 
his horse to one side in the shadow of a towering 
pine that grew a few feet from the highway and, 
as the sound became more distinct, a smile played 
over his face and he gathered the reins tighter 
in his hand. 

In another moment the traveler came into view 
and as he passed was recognized by the man in 
the shadows. 

“Howard!” and the rider quickly turned his 
horse when he heard the clear voice call his name 
and rode to where Stanley’s horse stood. 

“I thought I recognized that voice,” he called, 
as his face wreathed in smiles. “I figured on 
meeting you at the mouth of the canyon.” 

“I decided to ride on a few yards,” was his 
only reply, and they both turned their horses and 
rode on towards the small valley they were to 
cross. Just as they reached the open stretch a 
passenger train came slowly from the mouth of 
a tunnel and, like a jeweled serpent, quietly creep¬ 
ing along, began the slow and gradual descent 
into the valley that lay between the towering 
range and the mountain where lights of the min¬ 
ing camp on its side were like the soft glimmer 
of the Milky Way as they shone through the veil¬ 
like fumes and mist. The headlight of the mogul 


At the Mouth of a Canyon 


193 


engine threw out a ray of light like the fire from 
a dragon’s nostrils and when it rested on boulders 
and shone through crevices in the towering rocks 
it seemed as if the great sparkling monster was 
looking for prey. It would disappear for a mo¬ 
ment and, as it rounded a curve, would appear 
again, front on, lighting up the valley and then 
back to its track ahead. 

“What a beautiful sight,” said Howard, break¬ 
ing the silence. “It’s all so fascinating.” 

The moon was just coming into sight from be¬ 
hind the continental divide, as the range was 
called, for the waters from one side flowed to¬ 
wards the Pacific and on the other to the Atlantic, 
and its beams rested on the blue-green sage-brush 
that sparkled like waves of silver spangles. 

“That train came across the same valley you 
crossed today. It is a beautiful climb over the 
range by trail—much more fascinating than by 
rail, for the train saves labor and time by going 
through the tunnel.” 

He hesitated, and Howard, in his enthusiasm, 
asked the reason for his silence. 

“I am wondering if you like verse?” 

The young listener answered with much spirit: 
“Yes—why?” 

“In your mind’s eye, would you like to follow 
the trail I mentioned?” 


194 


Sulphur Fumes 


“Yes. Go on, but let's rein in and enjoy the 
wonderful kaleidoscopic view.” The moonbeams 
almost met the crimson rays of the passing day 
and the sheen on the landscape was soft and quiet 
with the brilliant lights of the city between. 

“We will climb the rising hills,” 

began Stanley, before the horses had fully 
stopped, 

“Where the stately pine trees grow 
Towering o’er sparkling rills 
That seek the valleys far below. 

“There we’ll tramp to nature’s music, 

While her beauty all beguiles— 

Tramp from mystic dusk-wrapped valley 
Through the green forest aisles. 

“Till at last the grey mist spreading 
With the shades of eventide, 

Sees us standing there together 
On the mighty Great Divide. 

“While the beauty of the sunset, 

Like a tired child sunk to rest, 

To the music of all nature, 

Now is fading from the West. 

“While on the mountainside to northward, 

A city with her thousand lights ablaze, 

Like a pall of brilliant jewels, 

Bursts upon the watchers’ gaze. 


At the Mouth of a Canyon 195 


“Cloaked by night a thing of beauty, 

Though ugly in the light of day, 

Yet even so her odd fascination 

Calls back her sons who go away.*’ 

“And how true it is,” he said, seriously, not 
looking to where Howard sat in his saddle. 

“Stanley, you are quite a poet.” 

“No, not a poet, but color and sounds give me 
an intense thrill, and it sometimes has outlet in 
verse, and the whole world is beautiful to me.” 

“Stanley, why did you send for me to meet 
you here?” 

At first there was no reply and the two sat in 
silence and, while thus meditating, a lonesome 
coyote came to the brow of a nearby hill and 
stood in fine silhouette, his head uplifted to the 
moon, and his howl, oh, so mournful! 

“The time they seem to be bravest,” said Stan¬ 
ley, turning to Howard, who wondered at his 
silence, “is when the moon shines brightest. 
Whether or not the mournful wail is a supplica¬ 
tion, human mind has never been able to tell.” 

“But that is not answering my question. Why 
did you send for me?” 

“Let’s walk our horses, and I will tell you 
why.” They turned their faces towards the 
sparkling lights of the mining camp on the side 
of the mountain. 


196 


Sulphur Fumes 


“How beautiful,” said Howard, as they slowly 
rode along. The camp was in the throes of des¬ 
perate labor troubles and many searchlights were 
in action and, to one knowing conditions as Stan¬ 
ley did, it was a fascinating tragedy. It was many 
years since Howard—then a boy—had ridden out 
of the camp with Stanley, and he knew nothing 
of the crime lying behind the almost pyrotechnic 
display. Night shut from vision the ugliness and 
barrenness of the camp and all one could see was 
the fantastic glare of lights. It fascinated the 
young man, but to Stanley, who noticed Howard’s 
rapturous expression, it was beautifully weird. It 
was truly a sight for a romanticist, for search and 
signal lights were in every direction. A brilliant 
glare like the tail of a meteor or shooting star 
shone from what seemed to be the eyes of a 
dragon, while one from the brow of a mountain 
slowly moved around like the winged serpent turn¬ 
ing its head, crossing the rays of another stationed 
on a dump of granite from a mine. Soon two 
incandescent rays met and remained stationary, 
and in a moment there were flashes from 
what seemed to be immovable lights like the 
blaze of Dante’s column. Stanley knew they 
were signal lights sending their messages of 
hatred and class war, for one class of human be¬ 
ings was searching for another class, but to How- 


At the Mouth of a Canyon 197 


ard it was all romantically fascinating and he 
wondered if Beatrice was where she could see it. 

The two rode on in silence for some time and 
the elder man watched and closely studied his 
companion, who was at a time of life when the 
unusual things send the blood rioting through the 
veins. “It’s not too soon,” mused Stanley, as they 
silently rode on. 

They had gone but a short distance when they 
were surprised by the strong rays from the lamp 
on the brow of the mountain resting on them and, 
as they moved on, the one in charge of the search¬ 
light guided its rays and they followed and rested 
on the travelers as they rode along. Stanley 
knew, and at first did not comment, but silently 
watched Howard’s surprised face when the signal 
lights again began to play. He knew what it 
meant but did not comment. 

“What does it mean, Stanley?” 

“We are now on the Appian Way,” answered 
Stanley, with an uncertain smile playing over his 
face. “The road leading into—” 

He was interrupted by the heavens being light¬ 
ed by a glare like fire—like a cascade of golden 
water. It was the emptying from a high trestle 
of a car-load of molten slag. 


Chapter XVIII 
Under the Cloak of Night 

A SIGN over a gateway leading into an 
enclosure where ranchers and cowboys 
stabled their horses when they came to 
the camp, read: “Ranchers’ Corral.” It was 
on the outskirts of the town and at the foot of 
the hill where, in the early days, gravel was cra¬ 
dled for gold long before copper was looked for. 
When that metal gave out the miners put their 
packs over their backs and traveled to other 
fields, leaving empty cabins on the mountainside. 

“Let us tie up here,” said Stanley, leading the 
way through the open gate and, after dismount¬ 
ing and securely fastening the lariats to the rail 
fence, he asked Howard to sit by his side on an 
upturned wagon-bed that was near the fence and 
close to the gate they passed through. 

“You asked me why I sent for you to meet me 
at the mouth of the canyon,” he said, when they 
were seated, and then he hesitated a moment. 
“Now I will tell you.” He watched his com¬ 
panion’s expression change as he continued: 
“You know, I did not get to it on our ride in.” 


Under the Cloak of Night 


199 


“Is it anything serious?” asked Howard ner¬ 
vously, rising to his feet and standing in front of 
Stanley. 

“No—and yes,” was the slow reply. “It is 
now past twenty years since you came in to at¬ 
tend the memorable trial.” Pie hesitated a mo¬ 
ment before continuing: “First,” he said with a 
happy smile, “I was a little homesick to see you, 
for ever since the first night we met near the old 
stamp-mill you have seemed like my own son, 
and my interest in you has always been that of a 
father, and I have noted and been proud of your 
progress, year by year. You have long since fin¬ 
ished your schooling and have chosen the calling 
of a rancher. You are now in a man’s estate and 
at a time of life when you should be thinking of 
making a home for yourself, and that means more 
than a house.” 

Howard’s eyes rested on the ground while he 
listened, and the boot of one foot slowly scraped 
the decomposed granite. 

“In school you were unusually studious and did 
not go out into the world as most others do. 
During the only visits you made to the camp you 
saw it through a boy’s eyes and the impression 
made was on a young brain. To my way of think¬ 
ing, you are all we could wish in a young man, 
except—” 


200 


Sulphur Fumes 


Howard quickly raised his eyes and turned to 
the speaker—“Except what?” Stanley was 
pleased at the spirit in which he spoke. 

“Except you are too much inclined towards re¬ 
clusiveness—perhaps I should have said—al¬ 
most.” 

“No, you are wrong in both,” he interrupted. 
“I’m neither a recluse nor one who draws away 
from people.” 

“I thought perhaps the hardships you experi¬ 
enced in early life had, in a way, embittered you.” 

Howard again interrupted with a hearty laugh. 
“You are wrong. I’m not a recluse nor am I at 
outs with the world in any way. It is true, I spend 
much time by myself, but it is in study. I love 
good books and they are splendid company, but 
I do not exclude the good fellowship of my neigh¬ 
bors and I believe I am thought well of by my 
countrymen.” 

“Yes, I know you are, but—” 

“But what?” 

“You ought to marry.” 

“I know that, and perhaps some day I will.” 

“I should like to see you marry, say, for in¬ 
stance, a girl like Caroline Nichols.” 

“The man who wins the love of that young 
woman,” answered Howard, spiritedly, “will be 
very fortunate for she is one in a thousand.” His 


Under the Cloak of Night 


201 


words and vehement manner pleased Stanley, and 
he said no more along that line but took up the 
thread of conversation which Howard felt meant 
narrowness of mind on his part. 

“We were speaking of the recluse and danger 
of unworldliness—” 

“No,” interrupted Howard, feigning serious¬ 
ness. “We had not reached the nincompoop 
stage.” 

“Forgive me, Howard, if I have offended you.” 

“No, Stanley, you have not offended me; you 
do not understand me. I know life. I have read 
much along the lines of settlement work.” 

Stanley smiled as he listened to the earnest 
words of the manly young fellow and wished the 
world had more of such. 

“Yes, but tonight you will see things you do not 
read about in books—a sadness and startling hor¬ 
ror under the cloak of night, and, after the beau¬ 
tiful pyrotechnic display you witnessed while 
crossing the valley, you will say, ‘Under a jeweled 
shroud,’ and that is one of the reasons I wanted 
to meet you where I did, for it was to show you 
the awful contrast. In a way, you have been 
shielded all your life, excepting the four years 
away at school, and have lived in the untainted 
air of the open country and amongst ‘regular 

j n 


men. 




202 


Sulphur Fumes 


“What do you mean by that?” 

“Oh, big, honest fellows,” he answered, “men 
who have breathed the air of the mighty range 
and have lived away from the corrupting atmos¬ 
phere of the cities such as we are to wander 
through tonight. It is fast passing away, and the 
big camp—the greatest of its day, the richest and 
most corrupt in the world—is falling in line and 
will take its place as a ghost camp, a shadow of 
the past; a life and condition that will never again 
exist. Already windows and doors are being 
boarded up, and on the roads and trails leading 
from the place men with packs over their shoul¬ 
ders are seen trudging along, all with their backs 
turned towards the diggins. The great copper 
war is over, and the Octopus has wound its arms 
around the camp and there will never again be the 
strenuous times of former years. I wanted you 
to see for yourself and learn of conditions before 
the atmosphere of strenuous endeavor is entirely 
obliterated. You have spoken of your love for 
books and your ambition to become a writer— 
should you some day take up that art and join 
the ranks of the authors, how could you, without 
any knowledge of life, depict it in its entirety?” 

He stopped speaking, and sat studying the 
young face and noted with much interest the 
changed expression. 



Under the Cloak of Night 203 

“I had not thought of that,” said Howard 
slowly, “and perhaps I have been selfish in being 
so much apart from people.” 

“The world should know all sides of life,” in¬ 
terrupted Stanley, “and that is why I have brought 
you here. I wanted you to see and know condi¬ 
tions at first hand. It’s a land of shattered hopes 
—a place full of tragedy—sort of a burial ground 
of romance.” 

“You speak as if there were no good people in 
the place.” 

“I do not mean to give that impression, for 
there are many. It’s the average of which I 
speak.” As Howard listened he thought of Caro¬ 
line’s friend and wondered how a girl of her type 
could live in such surroundings. 

“Stanley, have you ever met a young woman 
by the name of Beatrice Dawn?” he asked. Stan¬ 
ley thought a moment before replying, and in that 
time his mind quickly traveled over different parts 
of the camp and at last his answer was: 

“No. Why do you ask?” 

“She is a mighty fine young woman who visited 
at Sunrise—a friend of Caroline’s.” 

“Can't think of anyone by that name, possibly 
of an obscure family for there are many of such 
here.” 

Howard did not reply, but wondered how a 




204 


Sulphur Fumes 


brilliant girl such as Beatrice could be classed as 
coming from an obscure family. “Still,” he 
mused, “that often happens — a brilliant light 
often shines in dark surroundings,” and he 
thought no more of the remark but stood listen¬ 
ing to his companion as he continued: 

“Chasing butterflies, as it were—or say, follow¬ 
ing rainbow hues, and when they fade and the 
butterfly gets away; here you have it. Tonight, 
I shall take you for a walk through a garden over¬ 
grown with weeds of corruption and by the break- 
o’-day see you safely on your way back to the pure 
air of Sunrise Ranch.” Then, with a knowing 
twinkle in the eye, he said, jokingly, “You’ll want 
to go there before going back to your lonely 
abode.” 

Howard understood his little touch of pleas¬ 
antry but did not reply, and they silently walked 
away from the Ranchers’ Corral. 



Chapter XIX 


Through the Garden of Hell 


A TWO-STORY, brick-veneered building 
stood alone at the corner of a street lead¬ 
ing up the hill to the center of the camp, 
“A bend in the Appian Way,” as it was familiarly 
called by many, for its zig-zaggery across the 
“Flat” resembled the famed way leading into 
Rome. The place looked innocent enough from 
where Howard and Stanley had stopped to in¬ 
spect an old ramshackle frame building called a 
railroad station, whose tumbled-down appearance 
was ugly in the extreme. 

“Good enough for the place,” said Stanley, in 
response to Howard’s unfavorable criticism. It 
stood across the street and slightly down the hill 
from the veneered building that was a rendezvous 
for all classes. The first floor was used as a 
saloon and gambling house and the second—a 
dance-hall. By many it was known and spoken of 
as “The Trimmer” for it caught the country folk 
as they came across the “Flat” and the “Rube” 
from the East as he came in by train, and many 


206 Sulphur Fumes 

sad stories of “being trimmed” were told by the 
“tenderfoot.” 

“We’ll not waste time by going in there,” said 
Stanley, turning towards the resort on the corner, 
“for it’s mediocre compared to what we shall see 
later on.” 

Howard had turned and was slowly walking 
towards the hill while his friend was speaking. 
Stanley called, and he moved back to where the 
elder man stood looking in the direction of the 
great range of mountains across the valley. They 
were a deep purple and more majestic to look at 
than in the colors the daylight gives, and seemed 
to close in on the valley. The moon was high in 
the heavens and its rays rested on the ruins of one 
of the smelters that in its day furnished great 
clouds of sulphur fumes that settled over the 
camp. 

“Look, Howard,” he said, “another illustra¬ 
tion—‘Under the Cloak of Night.’ ” 

The scene before them was a most beautiful 
picture by night for the iridescent lights blended 
with the deep tones of the mountains on one side 
and then in fascinating graduation of rainbow 
hues to the brilliant lights of a pleasure resort in 
a canyon that opened towards the camp. To let 
one’s imagination have full sway one could see 
the half crumbled walls of an ancient castle on 



Through the Garden of Hell 207 


the Rhine or the ruins of the Forum of Rome 
redolent of the romance of days gone by. 

“I am going to keep you here in the camp until 
the break-o’-day and let you see how the night, 
with its mantle of purple or brilliant lights, 
spreads over a scene, shutting from view an ugly 
reality, and you will know I am right when I say 
‘knowledge acts as a mighty bulwark in all walks 
of life and often guides growing boys from the 
seductive glare of pitfalls.’ ” 

“But why should I take this long ride just to 
spend a few hours in town? I had hoped to look 
up Caroline’s girl friend. She would think it 
rather strange if I did not.” 

Before Stanley had time to explain in detail, 
his attention was attracted by a man coming out 
of the side door of the gambling house. He 
stopped speaking and took Howard by the arm, 
and, for a moment, was silent. 

“See that fellow?” he said at last in an under¬ 
tone, while pointing to a man. “Watch him.” 
They took a few steps towards the building and 
then stopped and silently watched the man take a 
small phial from his coat pocket. 

“That fellow is a recreant and ought to have 
been driven out of the camp long ago. He’s a 
‘snowbird.’ Watch him.” And as he spoke, the 
fellow removed the cork from the small bottle 


208 


Sulphur Fumes 


and put some of its contents on the back of his 
right hand and raised the hand to his nose, and 
from where they stood they could hear him sniff 
the white powder. 

“Sniffing cocaine,” said Stanley, seriously. “It 
is very prevalent here and this particular type of 
addict is called a ‘Snowbird’ perhaps on account 
of the snow-white powder.” 

“Like ‘dipping snuff,’ ” laughed Howard. “I 
remember that habit in the south,” and, as the 
unfortunate moved on up the street, they followed 
at a safe distance behind. 

“I know where he is headed, and we will prob¬ 
ably see him there,” he hesitated a moment before 
continuing. “Tonight will be one filled with object 
lessons and I want the early hours of morning to 
see you well on your way to the pure air of the 
range. • I want you to go while all this is fresh 
in your mind and digest it in a different atmos¬ 
phere. You may return some day, and then you 
can look up the fair one.” He smiled, and they 
followed on a few paces behind the solitary man, 
stopping now and then to watch a hack or auto¬ 
mobile load of roysterers on their way to the 
“Flat” for a night in revelry in road-houses that 
dotted the barren stretch, and others going down 
just to look on. 

“Stanley,” said Howard, as they slowly walked 


Through the Garden of Hell 209 


along, “why is it more crime is committed at 
night than in the day time?” 

“Nerves are more alert at night,” he answered. 
“When twilight comes on it brings with it rest¬ 
lessness that the rays of the sun subdue. Go to 
an asylum for the insane and there you will find 
an excellent illustration. During the daylight 
hours all may be quiet with the inmates, but there 
is sure to be moaning and restlessness as the night 
comes on.” 

The man in front stopped a moment and then 
turned into an alley. 

“I thought so,” said Stanley. “He’s headed 
for the ‘Cabbage Patch,’ ” and they, too, stopped 
when they came to a narrow passageway between 
two grimy-looking shacks—a dark place, strewn 
with tin cans and other rubbish. 

The man being followed quickened his pace 
when he came to the opening into the “Patch” and 
hurriedly walked to a log cabin a little larger but 
just as dilapidated-looking as the others. 

“Come,” said Stanley, taking Howard by the 
arm, “we will go to the back of the ‘shack’ where, 
in a place where the mud ceiling has fallen away 
from between the logs, we can see through very 
nicely without being observed. I would not take 
a chance at a window.” 

The crack-like opening was about five feet from 



210 


Sulphur Fumes 


the ground, making it easy for them to stand and 
leisurely make observations in the dimly lighted 
room. 

“The sights in this place were sadder years 
ago,” whispered Stanley, “but not as repulsive as 
we are about to see.” 

There were quite a few people—men and wo¬ 
men—gathered together in the unkept room, and 
all but the two asleep on an unkept bed had trag¬ 
edy written on their faces. 

“What makes that fellow twitch so?” asked 
Howard in an undertone, as he called his com¬ 
panion’s attention to a man sitting beside a 
woman who was religiously biting her nails. 

“It’s the lack of ‘dope.’ They are morphine 
addicts, and are suffering for the want of a ‘shot.’ 
Money is not as plentiful as it used to be, and 
the poor devils suffer the tortures of the damned 
for want of the drug when the exchequer gets 
low. Note the wild stare in the eye. It’s fear, 
like that of a hunted animal. There are many 
cabins in this section but this seems to be the most 
popular. A friend of mine told me of a night he 
spent showing a ‘tenderfoot’ newspaper man from 
New York through the ‘underworld’ and their 
visit to this cabin and the life story of some of 
those they found here.” 

They stood for a little while longer silently 



Through the Garden of Hell 211 

looking through the opening, and then turned 
away. 

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” said Howard, and again 
lapsed into silence, but only for a moment. 

“Did you read about anything like this?” asked 
Stanley. “Or see it in your settlement work while 
away at school?” 

“No,” was his only answer, and the elder man 
knew from his manner of speech that the first les¬ 
son was being absorbed. 

“Let’s walk on a little ways and find a place 
where we can sit down and, while watching the 
different ‘fiends’ pass to and fro just wandering 
around—some half-dazed—I’ll tell you the'story 
as he told it to me.” 

They had gone about half a block when they 
stopped and sat down on a drygoods box that 
had been turned on its side. 

“This is a good place,” said Stanley, then 
stopped speaking and, for a few seconds, intently 
peered down the poorly lighted half-alley, for it 
was too narrow to be called a street. “Here 
comes one now.” 

It was an unfortunate who always had two dogs 
following him. 

“A prominent citizen gives that fellow the 
money and he gets the ‘dope’ and they divide. 
He is on his way to a little box-like cabin where 



212 


Sulphur Fumes 


he and his dogs live. His door is never closed 
and, when he is fast asleep underneath what 
would seem just a pile of rags, his dogs sally 
forth to ‘rustle’ food for themselves. 

“We were speaking of the cowardice of the 
addict,’’ said Stanley, “so let me preface my story 
with a little of my experiences in the Latin Quar¬ 
ter of Paris a few years ago when I was with a 
writer who was gathering material for a book 
dealing with the absinthe habit. 

“We used to visit a little restaurant in that part 
of the city, Salis of ‘Chat-noir’ fame used to 
describe as ‘Lutetia’s Capital Montmartre.’ It 
was not far from a long flight of stairs that led 
to a hilltop where every army that ever attacked 
Paris camped — a place where Saint Denis and 
his companions suffered martyrdom and Ignatius 
Loyola and followers pronounced their first vows. 
It’s—oh, such a picturesque spot, and seems just 
above the place where I used to go with my friend 
when he was studying the ‘fiends.’ The rendez¬ 
vous was in an old four-story concrete building 
with green shutters at the windows. It was in 
the most interesting section of the Latin Quarter 
—a part that is fast dying away, for in these days 
students study books more and nature less.” 

He stopped speaking and intently watched 
Howard, who did not comment. But he saw by 


Through the Garden of Hell 213 


the serious expression on his face he had ab¬ 
sorbed each word and was eager to hear more. 

“There still were long-haired men there turn¬ 
ing night into day or day into night and hirsute 
youths with floating trouser-legs carrying books 
under the arm and smoking church-warden pipes 
outdoors, as do the art students, but I saw few 
black velvet berets with stripes of red ribbon 
around them and the whole aspect of the place 
seemed to have slipped below the girdle. Its ar¬ 
tistic side had shrunk and there seemed little left 
of that stuff dreams are made of, and I thought 
to myself: ‘Soon the atmosphere of the old sec¬ 
tion will exist nowhere but in the pages of a 
novel.’ 

“We used to sit in this interesting old restau¬ 
rant and listen to the weird and wonderful stories 
of the ‘fiends’—men and women who had drifted 
from the higher walks of life. They were vision¬ 
ary and boastful, but dreadful fear seemed to be 
in the heart of each, and they wandered in a 
vibration all their own and hardly a day passed 
but what a few of the poor devils found a resting 
place in the Seine. The section is not as distress¬ 
ing as this, for they have plenty to eat, while 
some of these poor beings are mighty hungry at 
times.” 

“Doesn’t society recognize a duty they have 


214 


Sulphur Fumes 


towards the dwellers in these cabins?” inter¬ 
rupted Howard. 

“No,” answered Stanley seriously. “Society 
here is a little different from anywhere else. They 
are not sure of themselves but should someone of 
prominence start to do for the poor wretches it 
would at once become a fad and the settlement 
be over-run by hypocrites.” 

They were both quiet for a few moments and 
Stanley was the first to break the silence. 

“You did not read of such conditions in your 
books on settlement work, did you?” he asked 
again, as a sad smile played over his face. “No,” 
he continued, “most of the books are conceived 
by minds such as I do not want yours to be. Now, 
do you want to hear the story of this place in the 
earlier days?” 

“Yes.” Yet after speaking the word he sat in 
silence for some time, and Stanley did not break 
the reverie until he consulted his watch and found 
it w r as after the midnight hour. 

“I think I had better tell it to you and then we 
will move on, for there are several other lessons 
to be given, tonight.” 

“Tell it to me. I now see where you are right 
and realize how selfish I have been in my un¬ 
worldliness and how little good to the world one 
without knowledge can be.” The listener was 


Through the Garden of Hell 215 

again pleased to note the vehement manner in 
which he spoke. 

“The night my friend showed the ‘tenderfoot 
around town was about the time you made your 
first visit to the camp,” said Stanley, launching 
into the story as his friend had told it to him. “It 
was when times were more strenuous than now.” 

His eyes twinkled when they met those of the 
listener. “You have some knowledge of the 
strenuosity of those days when life surely was 
reckless. Today, there is a let-down to the place 
and instead of the braggadocio of early days we 
find a condition bordering on sadness—an un¬ 
certainty akin to fear. 

“Now tell me, Howard, could you have writ¬ 
ten of this life ?” 

“No,” he answered quickly. “I knew nothing 
of it.” 

“Well, now you understand why an author 
must know life to depict it truly and not give to 
the world ridiculous fiction. The good and true 
stories of life in Alaska were written by men who 
went there and saw, and, in a way, joined in the 
life of the reckless land of the far North, and 
you will see by my story this writer from New 
York came here to get it first hand. These things 
are not pleasant, but as long as they exist the 
world should know it. He said that when they 



216 


Sulphur Fumes 


came to this cabin he pushed open the door with¬ 
out stopping to knock, for the shack had settled 
and the door was out of plumb and could not be 
locked. 

“ ‘At first there seemed to be no life in the one- 
room building,’ he said, ‘but as our eyes became 
accustomed to the dim night of one candle burn¬ 
ing low, we saw lying on the bed two seemingly 
lifeless women, and on the floor, near an old 
wreck of a stove, lay a man with his head resting 
on a roll of rags. In his right hand, which had 
fallen away from his body, was clutched an opium 
pipe.’ He said they did not rouse them, for, if 
awakened, they would have been sluggish and re¬ 
pulsive. ‘They had had their early night’s “shot” 
and that meant they would be dead to the world 
for hours,’ he said, and he told me how he took 
the writer close to the dilapidated bed where lay 
the two stupefied women. ‘The picture of 
wretchedness was too much for him and he 
quickly drew back,’ he said, ‘but I persuaded him 
to try it again and to take particular notice of the 
two sleepers, promising to tell him part of their 
life story when we went out.’ He said the writer 
did as he requested but quickly turned away and 
hurried to the door and out into the fresh air 
of the narrow street. 

“He said they sat and talked for about an 


Through the Garden of Hell 217 


hour—perhaps about as we are doing now—and 
he told him of the tragedies in the lives of many 
who silently passed by and entered different 
cabins. They went a little further up the hill and 
nearer the center of the town, and not far from 
a part of the camp known as the ‘red-light dis¬ 
trict,’ where they were to see a different type of 
tragedy.” In speaking of the place, Stanley 
said: “We will go up there in a little while. The 
district has all changed. The click of ivory chips 
and the blare of the hurdy-gurdy have faded 
away and the brilliant lights grown dim since you 
passed along the thoroughfare.” 

“What do you mean?” interrupted Howard. 
“I have never been in what you call your segre¬ 
gated district!” 

Stanley was pleased to see the “pep” in the 
young fellow and grasped the opportunity to have 
a little sport at his expense. 

“Oh, yes, you were. I’ve seen you there,” and, 
after annoying him for some little while, he told 
him it was the night he climbed down the rope- 
ladder and they rode out of town. 

“Why did you not tell me at the time?” How¬ 
ard asked, peevishly. 

“The sulphur fumes were dense that night and 
all you could see was the mystic forms and lights, 
and perhaps you thought it fairyland.” As he 


218 Sulphur Fumes 

finished speaking, a mischievous twinkle came to 
his eye. 

“No, Howard, my boy,” he said, taking the 
younger man by the arm, “you were too young in 
those days and I thought best to let it rest in 
wonderment. ” 

They walked on and left the colony at the cor¬ 
ner of a street where an old woman addict lived 
in a little log hut surrounded by a rickety fence. 
The yard was filled with rubbish consisting of 
empty cans and bits of iron gathered by her from 
around town, and these she sold to people in 
charge of precipitating plants and, with the money 
derived from the sale, bought drugs and what lit¬ 
tle food she required. 

Howard did not comment but silently walked 
along listening interestedly to his companion’s 
words that were more serious now. 

“It looks desolate enough, now,” said Stanley 
as they turned into a street that was sparsely 
lighted. “Just a ghost of early days,” he said in 
almost an undertone, as they walked along the 
weird street strewn with memories, and in this 
place where life had often unfolded itself in trag¬ 
edy he told the story as his friend had told it to 
him. 

“He said they went first to a typical frontier 
show-house — I knew the place. It was called 


Through the Garden of Hell 219 


‘The Comique’ and, in its day, a world-renowned 
place. It was a combination saloon and vaude¬ 
ville house. There was a stage, and on the first 
floor sawdust was sprinkled and tables for four 
were here and there, and girls in gaudy costumes 
waited on the loungers, and, at intervals, one 
would mount a table and do a terpsichorean 
stunt. The performance on the stage was much 
on the order of our present day vaudeville, with 
a few extras to suit the occasion. An encore was 
the signal for boisterous applause and throwing 
of coins at the artists, who would come forward, 
smile and bow, while gathering up the glistening 
pieces as if they were so many flowers. The sec¬ 
ond floor, which like most houses of entertain¬ 
ment, should have been a gallery, was a circle of 
stall-like boxes, each place a compartment with 
a bolt on the inside of the door, and close by was 
a small slide where refreshments were passed 
in.” 

He stopped speaking for a moment and sat 
watching Howard, who, he knew, did not under¬ 
stand, and then continued his story. 

“The front of the box, as it was called, which 
looked down upon the stage and floor below, was 
enclosed by a wire-netting. A scene of some sort 
was painted on the screen, the effect being the 
occupants of the compartment could see all that 


220 Sulphur Fumes 

was going on and not be seen from either the 
floor or stage. 

“ ‘We did not stay very long in the place,’ he 
said, and then he told how they turned into a 
street that looked like a road leading to hell. 
Howard, this is the street and those squatty build¬ 
ings across the street are the ‘cribs’ he described.” 

Stanley continued the story his friend had told 
him, but first explained to him why the “cribs” 
were all dark and a lone policeman was on guard. 

“They have been transformed from ‘Souls for 
Sale’ to ‘Public Market’ and my story will show 
you what a startling change it was. My friend 
said: ‘As we turned into the street, ‘Emma, the 
Swede,’ in evening gown, was standing in the mid¬ 
dle of the walk engaged in a lively and not too 
friendly conversation with ‘Callahan, the Bum,’ 
and close by ‘Blondetta’ stood in her doorway”; 
he stopped speaking and for a moment sat look¬ 
ing into space. 

“What is it?” asked Howard. 

“I was thinking of the tragic life here. I have 
seen her many times standing in her doorway try¬ 
ing to entice men and boys into her place. She 
was a tall woman—not bad looking, and com¬ 
monly called a ‘blonde’ for many peroxide puffs 
adorned her head. I remember his description 
of her neighbor—a ‘hop-head’ called ‘French 


Through the Garden of Hell 221 


Erma’—and his story was correct, for she was 
usually seen leaning lazily out of her window 
puffing a cigarette. ‘Her painted face,’ he said, 
‘showed the lines of a hard life and the strollers 
usually passed her by and stopped for a chat with 
a more attractive resident of the section, but they 
nevertheless received the stereotyped greeting: 
“Hello, boys.” ’ And he told how the eyes of the 
‘dope-fiend’ would almost close at times, as if she 
were about to fall asleep. ‘A footstep would 
arouse her for a moment,’ he said, ‘and the 
passer-by would hear the weird voice, “Hello, 
boys!” ’ He said some would stop for a moment 
and then pass on to a more attractive shack but, 
once in a while, an old-timer who had known her 
in her palmy days would reach in his pocket and 
pull out a few silver pieces and hand them to her 
with the cold words: ‘Here, Erma, go buy 
yourself a drink,’ and he told how the long, bony 
hand would reach out for the coins. and her 
painted lips form an invitation to the old-time 
friend to come in and have a drink with her, and 
how the answer was most always ‘No’ as he 
passed on to a more attractive shack. He said 
he felt that the old fiend, as she took the care¬ 
lessly flung bit of silver, mourned over the in¬ 
gratitude and falling away of a friend in whom 
she once deemed she could confide, as with ever- 


222 


Sulphur Fumes 


increasing force the barrenness of the empty years 
forced itself even upon her dull consciousness. 
‘Just another bit of tribute of flesh and blood the 
pitiless city exacted,’ and he said not far along 
the walk in another ‘crib’ ‘Jew Jess’ sat rocking 
near her open window while talking with ‘Mickey, 
the Greek’ w T ho stood near by. 

“ ‘The little one-room cabin looked neat,’ he 

<t t 

said, ‘and an air of an humble home seemed to 
surround the place,’ and he told how a bed stood 
in one corner of the cheap little room and in an¬ 
other. corner a stove just large enough for a tea¬ 
kettle to sit on the top, and how a few pictures 
hung on the wall; ‘and on a shelf adorned with 
festoons of hand-made lace,’ he said, ‘there were 
several photographs arranged artistically, and 
while rocking and talking, her fingers were busy 
with knitting needles.’ 

“I do not believe any of those women were 
there of their own volition. Some tragedy sent 
them there. Typical of the place, the little ‘cribs’ 
were owned by influential people and rented to 
the unfortunates for one dollar a night—rent paid 
in advance, for respectability best of all knows 
how great a tribute to exact from the unfortu¬ 
nates.” 

“Tell me, Stanley, what becomes of such 



Through the Garden of Hell 223 


people when they grow old or poor health over¬ 
takes them?” 

“Judging from the description my friend gave 
of ‘Jew Jess’ and her ‘crib’ she evidently had the 
love of a home even while she was in the shadows, 
and she proved it later by ‘landing’ a rancher and 
is now a devoted wife and seldom comes to town. 
I am told ‘Blondette’ was shot by her lover, and 
poor unfortunate ‘French Erma’ rests in an un¬ 
marked grave in one of the desolate-looking 
cemeteries on the ‘Flat.’ We will pass them when 
we ride out of the camp, for I want to take you 
that way and show you the location of the old 
country club. We’ll get some sandwiches on our 
way back to the corral and you can breakfast at 
the mouth of the canyon. Fve engaged a room 
for you at the Nine Mile House, for you will want 
some sleep before starting on your return jour¬ 
ney. I’ll ride half way across the ‘Flat’ with you.” 

Howard did not comment. His only words, 
as they started down the hill, were: “It’s pretty 
bad.” 


Chapter XX 

IVhile the Morning Star Grew Di m 


T HE MORNING STAR was growing 
dim when Stanley and Howard rode 
out of the “Ranchers’ Corral” and turned 
their horses’ heads towards a trail leading in a 
winding fashion through a deserted “placer 
diggins” where piles of gravel told of by-gone 
days when the prospector cradled for gold long 
before copper was in demand. They turned from 
the trail into a street leading across a rickety- 
bridge spanning a muddy stream that flowed from 
between two black slag walls and close to the 
place where “stink piles” burned in early days 
and contributed their share of sulphur fumes that 
settled over the camp. The glow of the rising 
sun shone on the snow-capped peaks of the high¬ 
lands that lay to the south and they sparkled like 
jeweled diadems, but the range close by was still 
in the purple, and the morning air was crisp. A 
coil of vitriol blue smoke rose from an Indian 
tepee that was on the side of “Timbre Butte,” a 
hill back of a slaughter-house that stood across 


While the Morning Star Grew Dim 225 

the road from one of the cemeteries and close to 
the old Country Club. 

“What a location for a pleasure resort,” said 
Howard in much surprise when Stanley pointed 
out the building and showed how it stood sur¬ 
rounded by a slaughter-house, four cemeteries 
and a brick-yard. 

They reined in their horses, while Stanley spoke, 
and stood near the picket-fence of the Protestant 
burial ground which was the best kept of any. 
There were some attractive head-stones and monu¬ 
ments, but the old wooden cross and board mark¬ 
ers were still in evidence and many a barren 
mound that covered an unknown sleeper, and 
some graves were shrouded with tansy weed,— 
about the only thing that would grow during the 
days of the heaviest smoke. 

Stanley noticed Howard turn in his saddle and 
look back towards the camp and he wondered at 
the expression on the boy’s face. 

“Do you want to go back?” he asked teasingly. 
But his companion did not answer, and they rode 
on and turned at a bend in the road, for it had been 
an old trail in earlier days and wound around 
where the walking was easiest and it led closer to 
the lone “wigwam.” 

“Two or three Cree Indians live there,” said 
Stanley, “or, perhaps I should say stop there, for 


226 


Sulphur Fumes 


they are remnants of a brilliant and picturesque 
tribe of warriors now forlorn wanderers await¬ 
ing the call to the ‘Happy Hunting Ground.’ As 
he spoke a tall buck threw back the flap of the 
tepee and came through the opening and, appar¬ 
ently not noticing them, wrapped his gaudily- 
colored blanket close around his body and stood 
erect and as silent as a statue while he watched 
the sunrays shoot up from behind the purple 
range of mountains across the valley. 

The tepee standing in the clump of sage-brush 
on the side of the hill was fascinating in itself but 
the Indian completed the beautiful western picture 
as he stood in dawn’s silver light that had put the 
stars to flight, except the morning star and that 
had grown dimmer. He did not move until the 
top of the sun appeared above the range as if it 
were coming with its golden rays to drive the mist 
away. 

“Do the Indians ever take ‘dope’?” asked 
Howard seriously. 

“No, why?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I just wondered.” 

“No, they do not take ‘dope’ but when it comes 
to ‘fire-water,’ they’re right there.” 

“I should think they would freeze to death in 
the winter,” said Howard with a shudder that 
brought a hearty laugh from Stanley. 


While the Morning Star Grew Dim 227 

“No, I have seen them in the days they were oh, 
so picturesque when the young bucks with nothing 
on but some feathers in their glossy hair, a breech- 
clout, and moccasins to protect their feet from the 
ice and sharp rocks, with guns over their shoulders 
hurrying along on the crusted snow in search of 
game, with the thermometer far below zero and 
not a shiver of the red skin. A time when the first 
Americans were surrounded by poetry and 
romance.” 

Their horses were slowly walking along while 
they carried on their conversation, which now and 
then drifted back to the unfortunates of the camp 
they had just left, and Stanley was pleased, for he 
knew his work of the night had not been in vain. 

“How do most of the unfortunates contract 
the habit?” asked Howard seriously. 

“That’s a difficult question to answer. Some 
go about it deliberately thinking it sporty to take 
a turn at ‘hitting the pipe’ or ‘taking a shot’ and 
people of slumming parties who go through the 
‘restricted district’—not to do good or in any 
way help the unfortunates—but wholly to have a 
roisterous time—not realizing there is but one 
thing at the end of the trail for those who trifle 
with the narcotic. Others become addicts due to 
carelessness of physicians and many innocently 
taking a chance at drowning sorrow. Many sad 


228 


Sulphur Fumes 


cases are due to the criminal use of the narcotic.” 
While speaking he took a piece of folded paper 
from his pocket and Howard noticed it was a 
page torn from a book but did not speak while 
Stanley carefully smoothed out the creases. 

“I intended to read this to you when we were 
in the colony but forgot it. I tore it out of a 
book I read some years ago. It’s a copy of a let¬ 
ter written by a young woman who, unbeknown to 
herself, was being made a ‘fiend’—an illustration 
of the criminal use of drugs. She is writing to her 
sweetheart and says: ‘My companion insists 
that I am not well and perhaps I am not, but I am 
dreadfully suspicious of the medicine she is giving 
me and think perhaps it is not what I should have. 
She and the doctor seem queer and guarded about 
it. It is just a small tablet and I do not know 
what it is composed of. Not long after dinner 
she gives me this and in about half an hour I am 
so tired and exhausted I cannot sit up and feel I 
must go to bed, which I do. A most peculiar 
sensation takes hold of me, my senses are acutely 
conscious and my feet and hands tingle and 1 am 
almost like one in a trance. My soul seems to 
want to leave my body, and, while I lie on my 
bed, the fierce beat of my heart hurls the blood 
through my veins. Now I become more drowsy 
and, when the glow of the pale moon fills my 


While the Morning Star Grew Dim 229 

room, I lie and try to count the many phantoms 
flying around my ceiling or the muffled tick-tock of 
the old clock in the corner. My eyelids are heavy 
and I wish to sleep. Every tick of the clock vi¬ 
brates through my body, beautiful flowers are 
everywhere; I hear your voice, dear Charles, and 
see you beckoning to me. My eyelids close and I 
hear sweet music as my body seems to float away, 
and I’m soon in the “Beautiful Land of Nod”— 
there to dream always of you. In my dream you 
come and sit at my bedside, you bring me sweet 
flowers and your cool hand I feel on my forehead. 
I wake the following morning about noon—com¬ 
pletely exhausted and feel so very dull 
That is about all that is necessary to read to give 
you some idea of what was being done to the poor 
girl and after her death the intrigue between the 
companion, doctor and her lawyer was exposed.” 

While they walked their horses and talked, the 
sun had come from behind the range and started 
on its journey through the heavens, and where its 
rays rested on the blue-green sage-brush it 
sparkled like waves of silver spangles. 

“When we reach the main highway I shall turn 
back, but before doing that I want to know if your 
coming has been worth the trouble or time spent.” 

“I am glad I came,” Howard answered serious¬ 
ly, “and it will be many a day before I stop think- 


230 


Sulphur Fumes 


ing of those poor devils back there. There’s 
tragedy in it all, throbbing, heart-gripping 
tragedy! It has taught me one great lesson and 
that is—not to lead such a selfish life; live more 
by the side of the road where we can give the 
helping hand.” 

Stanley guided his horse closer to Howard’s 
and reached over and patted the young man on the 
shoulder. 

“I have opened to you, tonight,” he said, “the 
bloody doors of life,—doors you have never 
before passed through, and I feel it will help you 
in years to come. A man who is going to do 
his part in making the world better must know 
what is in it.” 

They reined in their horses. 

“We have come to the cross-ways,” said 
Stanley, “and I must again turn my face towards 
the camp and you the open country I love so 
much.” 

Howard did not speak while he held out his 
hand, but his eyes told of the affection in his heart. 
Stanley quickly took the proffered hand in his and 
held it while he spoke. 

“You are going back to the range and I 
know no matter what comes to you, you will play 
the game well.” 

“Thank you, Stanley, for those kind words.” 


While the Morning Star Grew Dim 231 

While speaking he withdrew his hand and 
tightened his rein. 

“Good-bye,” he said while his horse turned 
away, and Stanley called the same to him and a 
message of love to Caroline and then sat in 
silence and watched him spur his horse on. 

For a few moments he disappeared from sight 
in a ravine and then on up the other side. When 
he reached the brow of the hill he reined in, turned 
to look back and, while in beautifully outlined 
silhouette, waved to Stanley and then turned his 
horse and disappeared down the slope on the 
other side of the hill. 


Chapter XXI 


JFhere the Air is not Tainted 

T HE HOME BUILDINGS of Sunrise 
Ranch were on the slope of a low hill and 
near a woods that lined the banks of a 
creek that flowed from snow-capped mountains 
that made a picturesque background for the plains 
that extended far to the east, where chaparejo 
bedecked “cow-punchers' ! rode the bucking 
“cayuse” while herding droves of cattle, and 
where once a year the “round up” boys pitched 
their tents. 

During the morning hours of this day from in 
many directions coils of dust were seen rising from 
trails that led across the benchland. They were 
made by the hoofs of horses hurrying along the 
paths that led toward Sunrise Ranch, for it was 
known Beatrice Dawn was due to arrive on the 
afternoon stage, and a dinner in the form of a 
barbecue and a dance for the evening had been ar¬ 
ranged for her reception. During her former 
visit she had made many friends and won the 
hearts of the cowboys, for she was ever ready to 


Where the Air is not Tainted 233 


join in their sports and they had with much plea¬ 
sure looked forward to this day. 

A long table was spread in the open in the shade 
of a cottonwood tree, for the mess-house had been 
cleared for the dance and decorated with ferns 
that grew on the banks and in shaded nooks of 
the stream. Many branches of brilliant autumn 
foliage were used, for early fall frosts had made 
flaming beauties of some trees and golden yellow 
of others. Girl friends came the day before to 
help make cakes and other dainties for the party 
and to gather branches with leaves of brilliant 
hues, and they transformed the mess-house into a 
thing of beauty. When they finished decorating, 
the walls and ceiling were a blaze of autumn colors 
intermingled with vivid greens of ferns, and the 
boys were busy placing benches in position and 
helping the young women with the table and watch¬ 
ing the roasting calf that hung over the crackling 
pine knots. 

“Wonder what’s keeping Stillman,” said one 
of the boys, as he walked out to the road and 
stood with his hand above his eyes looking in the 
direction of the Stillman Ranch, for Howard had 
taken up some government land about ten miles 
away and established a place of his own in a 
picturesque spot convenient to the open range. 
He loved to be out of doors riding the range and 


234 


Sulphur Fumes 


looking after affairs in general but with it all he 
was fond of the daintiness of a well kept home 
and he planned his little house so there would be 
a view of the sunset. 

“One is usually tired at that hour,” he had said 
to himself while selecting the spot for the small 
one-story abode, “and wishes to sit and dream in 
the twilight,” and, from the long porch of his 
“shack,” as he chose to call it, he looked out over 
a wide expanse of country. Some of it was rolling, 
and there were miles of level range that seemed 
like the flat top of a grand plateau, and in places 
clumps of sage-brush grew, lending much beauty 
to the sunset, for in the far west a few moments 
after the sun disappears, the sky above the horizon 
blazes as if the world beyond were afire. This 
reflection on the blue-green brush gives an effect 
like waves of golden spangles; and often while 
Howard sat watching the golden blaze of beauty 
he thought of the hundreds of venomous rattlers 
which the dazzling brush protected. 

“Like crime, hiding underneath a beautiful 
cloak,” he often mused after his walk through the 
shadows of the camp on the side of the granite 
mountain, and he remembered Stanley’s words 
when he said: “Tonight, I have opened the bloody 
gates of life.” 

Like an artist finishing a masterpiece, he 


Where the Air is not Tainted 235 , 


scumbled many dark spots with beautiful thoughts, 
and his charity for all surrounded him with many 
friends and he was known from far and near as 
the “gentleman rancher.” 

During college days he had accumulated many 
choice volumes from the pen of his favorite 
authors and often his light burned when all save 
the singing waters and weird howl of the lonesome 
coyote was quiet. He had piled rocks in the creek 
that flowed close to the side of the house, for he 
loved to hear the lullaby sound of the water as it 
fell from one rock to another. 

His little retreat was far removed from the 
stage road and the harsh call of the bull-team 
driver was never heard in his tranquil home. 
When the shadows began to lengthen he often sat 
watching the cattle select spots where they might 
lie down to rest for the night, for many came 
close to the rustic fence that closed in the grounds 
surrounding his house. This day his nerves were 
alert when he mounted his favorite saddle-horse 
that was to carry him to Sunrise Ranch, where he 
was to join his friends at the barbecue and dance. 

“It seems strange Howard does not come,” 
said Caroline Nichols, as she too went to where 
“Southern Jack” had gone several times to watch 
for Howard, for it was a spot where they could 
see the trails in all directions. She always spoke 


236 


Sulphur Fumes 


of him as “Howard,” for they were like brother 
and sister and the same house had sheltered them 
both during their earlier life. She had been there 
but a few moments when she clapped her hands 
and called in a lusty voice: 

“The stage is coming!” 

The young people eagerly flocked to the road 
where she stood and from that spot they saw four 
horses in almost break-neck speed coming towards 
them. Clouds of dust followed in the wake of the 
heavy vehicle that twisted and jolted the passen¬ 
gers as it passed over ruts and on two wheels while 
rounding sharp turns. . 

Soon Beatrice was discovered sitting on the box 
beside the driver, and a hearty shout and many 
hats went up from those waiting, and the welcome 
was answered by a happy wave of the hand. As 
the coach drew nearer to those standing by the 
side of the road, her eyes anxiously searched 
among those gathered around. Caroline was the 
only one who noticed and understood, but she did 
not speak her thoughts. 

“Southern Jack,” full of Western hospitality 
said to the driver, who sat looking on while 
Beatrice’s luggage was being taken off: 

“Come yo’all, an’ have dinner with us.” See¬ 
ing the driver hesitate he laughed: “Ah hesita¬ 
tion is good as ah yes,” and he turned to the other 


Where the Air is not Tainted 237 


boys. ^ “Boys,” he said, with a face wreathed in 
smiles, “unhitch the hosses an’ give ’em ah good 
feed!” 

At this the driver strenuously remonstrated: 

“The passengers can’t wait,” he said finally, and 
with much difficulty repressing a smile. 

“Yo’all would like to,” said the good-hearted 
Southerner, who was much of a favorite at the 
ranch, and his smile won the day; and, as the 
travelers left the coach and the driver climbed 
down from the box, another hearty cheer went up 
and soon the horses were lead to a corral, where 
they were given a sumptuous meal. 

“Yo’ kin drive like hell!” said Jack in an 
undertone to the friendly driver, “an’ I reckon 
make up time.” 

It was a great treat for the tired passengers 
and they all joined hands in the merriment. 

“We do not know what has detained Howard,” 
said Caroline, as she led Beatrice towards the 
house. “He ought to have been here long ago.” 
Just before reaching the door she turned and 
again looked towards the trails leading across the 
country where cattle and sheep grazed. 

“Wait!” she said, taking Beatrice by the arm 
and holding her back while she pointed to a trail 
where a rider and horse were slowly coming 
towards the house. “At first,” she said disap- 


238 


Sulphur Fumes 


pointedly, “I thought it might be Howard.” She 
hesitated and placed her hand to shade her eyes. 
“No, the horse is walking and the rider hasn’t his 
coat on”; and they were again turning towards 
the house when “Southern Jack” called: 

“Miss Caroline, it’s Howard, but something 
must of happened, foah his coat is off an’ he’s 
walkin’ his hoss.” 

The boys too saw, and hurried ciown the trail 
to meet him and he reined in when he saw them 
coming. 

“I am sorry I was not there when the stage 
arrived,” he said, “but I could not ride any 
faster,” and after a few words with the boys he 
continued to walk his horse towards the ranch. 
Those who had stayed behind anxiously waited 
for him to reach the gates and as they gathered 
around his horse his eyes caught the inquiring 
gaze of Beatrice’s large, dark eyes and he smiled 
affectionately and reached forward for her to take 
a bundle he was carrying in front of him. 

“I wrapped my coat around it,” he said. “I 
found it beside the trail”; and when Beatrice laid 
aside part of the coat she found a little lamb with 
a broken leg. “I could not ride fast,” he said with 
much feeling, “for it would have jolted the little 
sufferer.” 

“Saint Francis,” smiled Caroline, as she lis- 


Where the Air is not Tainted 239 


tened, “for it was he who carried the lamb with 
a broken leg,” and as she finished speaking and 
stood with one arm around Beatrice she reached 
up with the free hand and patted him on the knee. 

“My brother,” she said affectionately. “My 
two best friends are saints.” She felt a shudder 
pass over Beatrice’s body while Howard sat silent¬ 
ly gazing into space, but it was only for a moment, 
for the boys gathered around the horse and broke 
the serious meditation by lifting him off the saddle 
and placing him on their shoulders, and their 
happy voices rang out with: 

“Hail! Hail! The gang’s all here!” As they 
passed through the gates the passengers and 
driver joined in the song. With the boys in 
single file, with hands on each other’s shoulders, 
they paraded through the grounds before carry¬ 
ing him to the table that had been spread for the 
feast. 

Caroline’s mother, who in her early life had 
been a splendid type of Southern beauty, stood a 
happy onlooker. 

“I wish they would sing some Southern melo¬ 
dies,” she said to her husband, whose arm had 
stolen around her waist. 

“Perhaps they will,” he answered with a smile, 
and quietly moved from her side and soon she saw 
a smile envelop “Southern Jack’s” face, and in a 


240 


Sulphur Fumes 


moment the sympathetic voices carried her back 
to school days and h,er home in the sunny south. 

During Howard’s triumphal entry into the 
pretty grounds, his hat had fallen off and showed 
the premature gray locks above his temples and 
when he turned his head and waved a kiss to where 
the girls stood he was ravishingly handsome. If 
there ever had been a doubt in Beatrice’s mind, 
that wave of the hand and sparkle of his lustrous 
eyes settled it, and Caroline understood the flush 
and expression that passed over her friend’s face, 
and without comment put her arms about her and 
kissed her lovingly. 

“Come,” she said, “we must give the lamb into 
the keeping of the boys, for they will know what 
to do for it.” 

Twilight had drawn close around the travelers 
when the sharp crack of the stage-driver’s whip 
was heard, and they waved a fond adieu to the 
happy throng at Sunrise Ranch. 


Chapter XXII 

Love and Sound Philosophy 


T HE FRIENDS watched Howard and Bea¬ 
trice as they passed around the room to 
the rhythm of a dreamy waltz, for they 
thought they saw in their eyes and happy smile the 
story of love. 

“No wonder he used to come over ’most every 
day,” said one of the boys. He was older than 
Howard, but among those happy people all were 
spoken of and thought of as boys and girls. 
Howard danced with all the girls during the eve¬ 
ning and did not overlook Caroline’s mother, who 
kept young in the untainted air of the mountains 
and plains and an association with the younger 
people of that section of the country, where people 
living fifty or seventy-five miles away were spoken 
of as neighbors. 

When they finished the first dance they had 
together, she asked him to sit out the next with 
her. 

“Howard,” she said, as they took seats a little 
removed from the others, “I am happy to see you 
so happy.” 


242 


Sulphur Fumes 


His eyes half closed and his chest rose and 
fell in slow breathing, but he did not speak. 

“What is it, Howard?” she asked anxiously, 
as she watched his hands open and then close 
tightly over his knees while his eyes sought the 
floor. 

“I am happy and sad—if such a combination 
can be,” he said, raising his head and turning his 
eyes to meet her inquiring gaze. 

“Tell me why you should be sad,” she said with 
all a mother’s interest, and her expression as she 
spoke showed that wonderful interest; and while 
they sat watching the others dance, he reviewed 
the past. A story of his early life she had already 
heard from his lips, for he was the soul of honor, 
and when still a young boy felt he could not ac¬ 
cept of their many kindnesses unless they knew of 
the shadow hovering over him, so one evening he 
told all to the father and mother, and asked them 
to keep his secret, and they guarded it as well as 
Caroline guarded Beatrice’s identity, even from 
her father and mother. He felt that his life was 
dishonest in the fact of his living under an assumed 
name, and he smarted under what he thought an 
awful disgrace. 

“Mother Nichols,” he said affectionately, for 
he loved her as dearly as he cherished his own 
mother’s memory, “you know how fond I am of 


Love and Sound Philosophy 243 


Beatrice, and when I dream of her by day or 
night there is but one word in the lexicon that 
comes to me and that is ‘love.’ She has taken me 
to the portals of heaven, but I dare not enter.” 
He hesitated, and Mrs. Nichols sat silently study¬ 
ing the sad, handsome face and as she quietly 
waited for him to continue the clock ticked away 
anxious seconds, for she loved Howard as if he 
were her own son. 

“At night I dream of her in pure white marble,” 
he continued in a quiet voice, “and during my 
wakeful hours there is always before my eyes a 
spotless flower.” 

She drew his hand close to her and held it in 
both of hers while she spoke with much feeling:— 

“You have built a beautiful mosaic about 
Beatrice, exquisite in the warmth of love that 
comes from the heart that lies behind all mental 
states.” 

She hesitated a moment before continuing, for 
she felt it was the physiological moment in the 
boy’s life and she wished to vivify her own philos¬ 
ophy and to encourage him to forget the shadows 
that darkened his young manhood and blot out 
the sad past as completely as if it never had been. 

“You, my boy, are the blossom of a rose graft¬ 
ed with a thorn,” she continued in soft, deliberate 
tones, for she wished each word to be understood 


244 


Sulphur Fumes 


in its fullest, “and the splendid life you lead shows 
that the beauty of the rose predominated and gave 
to the world a wonderful character. Whether 

4 

born in or out of wedlock makes no difference, only 
to people unworthy of consideration. It’s the life 
you lead—your mentality and the care you give 
your physical being that counts. Not what some 
puritanical being says,—some pedantic person 
who refuses the ‘glad-hand’ to someone whose 
great-grandfather curried his horse on a Sunday.” 

She noticed the twinkle and side-glance of the 
eye and knew he was drinking in every word she 
spoke. “He’s got the right spirit in him,” she 
mused, as she lapsed into silence and sat studying 
the handsome face of the boy whose great love 
was slowly conquering all obstacles. “It’s just a 
supersensitive nature,” and she thought of the 
wonderful asset it was, if handled rightly, and 
how it acted as a mighty, though delicate bulwark 
against the frivolity of many. “It’s the delicate 
perfume of a lovable character,” and the thought 
encouraged her to continue her motherly philos¬ 
ophy. 

“You did not come into this world of your own 
volition. Your father’s crime and your mother’s 
tragedy brought you here. The old orthodox 
saying: ‘We are called upon to suffer for the 
sins of others,’ is worn threadbare. Keep your 



Love and Sound Philosophy 245 


mother’s memory sacred, but blot out your father’s 
as completely as he harshly drove you from his 
door. He never loved your mother—it was sensu¬ 
ality. The man who loves a woman will never 
harm her.” 

She noticed the change in his expression and 
spoke with more spirit, for bitter thoughts were 
fast coming to her: 

“He probably sat back and watched his prey, 
each moment with suave words drawing her closer 
to him, until at last, like a vulture, sank his talons 
in her heart, and she was lost—and from that 
moment he fed upon her body like a beast of prey 
hovering around a lifeless deer. 

“Tonight,—tonight, my boy, is the time to go 
to Beatrice, and beneath the moon that is silently 
riding through the heavens tell her a pretty story 
of love. It is not necessary to tell her of the past, 
for we have just buried that.” She smiled, and 
again with a slight misgiving sat waiting for him 
to speak. 

“I could not, with a lie in my heart, ask her to 
be my wife.” She loved him for those words, and 
then assumed a more jovial manner, for she had 
noticed some inquiring eyes turned to where they 
were sitting. 

“Go to Beatrice, and tell her of your love. In 
other words,” she laughed, “be the splendid man 



246 


Sulphur Fumes 


you are and ‘pop the question’ in your own way. 
Sometimes girls hesitate,” she smiled, “and long 
to hear more, for they are fond of pretty stories 
of love, so do not expect her to say ‘sure’ and fall 
into your arms.” 

Howard could not suppress a twinkle in the 
eye nor a smile the words brought to his face, and 
laughingly said, as he took her by the arm, 
“Come!” and they again joined the happy throng 
of dancers. 


Chapter XXIII 
The Story of Love 


I T WAS FAR PAST the midnight hour but the 
hearty laughter of the dancers and jingling of 
spurs still blended with the tones from the 
violins’ strings. 

“Beatrice,” said Howard, as they stopped 
dancing and he led her to the open door, “the 
night is so wonderfully beautiful let’s stroll down 
by the creek.” 

She looked into his wistful eyes as he finished 
speaking, but did not reply in words. Her white, 
slender fingers stole into the palm of his warm 
hand and they walked towards the tall cotton¬ 
woods that stood like sentinels guarding the sleep¬ 
ing world, and they strolled on and on until they 
came to a quiet spot where during her former visit 
he had made a rustic bench for her and placed 
it near the cool stream, and where they had sat 
before, often in the bright rays of the silvery 
moon, and sometimes at the close of day. 

Neither one spoke for many moments but sat 
listening to the trickling waters and soft music of 
leaves tremulous as fairy wings fluttering against; 


248 


Sulphur Fumes 


the sky. There was a wonderful stillness where 
they sat in the moonlight, and all nature seemed 
hushed in dreams. 

“A sweet song comes from the babbling brook,” 
said Howard, breaking the silence and moving 
close to where Beatrice sat, and, taking both her 
hands in his, said: “And the murmuring winds 
sing the same sweet song—‘I love you,’ and those 
same words are in my heart, but I dare not speak 
them for I haven’t the right to speak of love to 
a pure girl.” 

She drew away from him, but only slightly, and 
waited for him to continue. 

“I’m a criminal,” and when she heard the words 
she withdrew her hands from his and sat silently 
listening. “I am an impostor and should not be 
here with you. I am guilty of the most despicable 
crime in the roster of criminal possibilities. I have 
lived among these honest, truth-loving people and 
gained their confidence—a thing I am absolutely 
unworthy of.” 

He stopped speaking and wrung his hands in 
anguish, while Beatrice, in a bewildered manner 
looked on. 

“If I only had the right to speak to you as some 
other man will speak in a day to come, how happy 
I would be.” 

“Howard, tell me what you have done!” she 



The Story of Love 


249 


said in a trembling voice, hardly above a whisper. 

“Do not ask me,” he answered imploringly. ”1 
cannot tell.” 

“I wish to know,” she said, her face slowly 
changing from the ashen pallor the first shock 
gave, and when she again spoke her eyes were 
penetrating and the rose flush spreading over her 
cheeks told she suspected the crime that stabs 
deep into a woman’s heart. 

“I demand to know!” she said with a tinge of 
bitterness in each word. “What right had you 
to bring me here if your character is not what it 
should be ?” 

“No right,” he answered, without raising his 
eyes from where he sat gazing down at the sheen 
the moonbeams gave to the waters that were 
hurrying past on their journey to the valley below. 

“Why did you bring me here?” 

“Because I wanted to be alone with you.” 

“What-!” she said, quickly rising to her 

feet, and standing with trembling lips as he con¬ 
tinued without looking up. 

“I wanted to talk to you—I wanted to—” and 
his voice seemed to die in the distance. “I have 
not the right—” 

“No, you haven’t the right to speak to me at 
all. All my life, excepting the happy days at 
school, I have been surrounded by crime. When 



250 


Sulphur Fumes 


I first visited Caroline I had just left a place satu¬ 
rated with vice of every description, and when I 
reached this beautiful spot it seemed like heaven.” 

Tears came to her wonderful eyes that shone 
in anger, but more like the breaking of heart¬ 
strings. 

“I am faint,” she sobbed and again took the 
seat she had just left; “and you,—you, a criminal, 
wound your coils around my heart, and—and 
now,” she said in almost hysteria, “I find myself 
facing more crime.” 

“Beatrice! please—oh, please do not speak 
so harshly,” he said quickly looking up. 

“What is your crime?” she asked, while drying 
her tears, for his imploring words softened her 
anger and her voice was more friendly. “I want 
to know.” 

“The crime I am committing every day and 
night is living under an assumed name—a miser¬ 
able act of deception,” was all he said, as his eyes 
again turned to where the sound of the waters 
blended with the whispering of the leaves. But 
they rested there only for a moment, for Beatrice’s 
silence drew them back to her and the startled ex¬ 
pression he saw in her pale face frightened him. 

“What is it?” he asked, and before an answer 
came she swooned and fell forward in his arms. 


The Story of Love 


251 


For some moments he sat anxiously contem¬ 
plating what was best to do. “I have never before 
been in such a predicament,” he said, half-aloud, 
while her head quietly rested near his heart. 

“Beatrice!” and as he spoke he felt a slight 
move and heavy breathing, but she did not raise 
her head and sobbed as if her heart were breaking. 

“Is it so dreadfully bad to use an assumed 
name?” she asked through tears, and her voice 
was tremulously sweet. 

“Yes, it’s a cowardly, criminal act!” 

“Howard, forgive me for speaking so harshly,” 
she said, in an undertone—almost a whisper, “for 
I, too, am a criminal.” 

“No!—No,” he said softly, as he drew her still 
closer to him, “you could not be a criminal.” 

“Yes,” and as she spoke she drew away from 
his embrace. “My name is not Beatrice ‘Dawn’ 
but—it’s ‘Beatrice Dunlap.’ ” 

Howard listened to her earnest words that fol¬ 
lowed. The name “Dunlap” carried with it no 
significance to him, other than it was a queer 
coincidence, and with a hearty laugh made con¬ 
versation that cheered Beatrice. 

“How strange!” he said reflectively, “my right 
name is ‘Dunlap.’ ” 

The name also meant nothing to her, for she 



252 


Sulphur Fumes 


never had heard the story of his life, and she said 
vivaciously clapping her hands: 

“I’ll not have to change my name!” and quickly 
as she had spoken the words she realized what 
she had said and turned her burning face from his 
happy smile, for it is part of a woman’s modest 
vanity, at first, to hide from the suitor the love 
she bears for him. In her extreme happiness she 
had, in a way, bared her heart and she felt the 
crimson tinge of her cheeks deepening with 
every beat of the heart. 

“We both are criminals,” he said, and she 
answered: 

“Yes.” 

He drew her close in his arms. “Now may I 
sing as do the waters and murmuring winds: ‘I 
love you!’ ” 

“Yes,” she said, and nestled closer in his em¬ 
brace, and listened to the pretty story of love he 
told. Each word he spoke, as he opened the 
flood-gates of love and poured forth torrentially 
the yearnings of his manly soul, came through the 
fine-meshed sieve of his pure mind and his warm, 
passionate sayings carried her to a jeweled seat 
on a marble throne. When their lips met in 
plighting their troth, it was like a song without 
words, and he held her long in his fond embrace. 

When they arose from the rustic bench and 


The Story of Love 


253 


turned to retrace their steps, it seemed as if the 
friendly moon had gone far in the heavens and 
was looking back to where they stood, but the 
twinkling stars had not traveled on. 

When they reached the hall where the friends 
were still making merry, Caroline was the first 
to greet them. It was not necessary for them to 
announce the betrothal, for their happy eyes told 
the story and, without speaking, the two fast 
friends of school days threw their arms around 
each other, and Howard, with face wreathed in 
smiles, stood by a happy onlooker while tears of 
joy came to their eyes. 

“Look ovah yondah,” said Southern Jack, who 
stood talking with Mrs. Nichols. “They ’jes 
powerful fine young people,” and then smilingly 
said, as he took her by the hand: “Mother, I 
reckon we kin have the next danceand they both 
gave a pleasant knowing nod of the head as they 
passed Howard and Beatrice who had joined in 
the dance. 


Chapter XXIV 

The Break o’ Day 

T HE STARS were taking on the silver tints 
of the approach of dawn when the 
music stopped, and the roosters in their 
trellised run were one by one proclaiming the 
break o’day, when the cowboys sallied forth to 
feed and water the stock. 

All the guests had been asked to stay for 
breakfast, and when the boys hurried off to their 
work Mrs. Nichols and the girls spread the table. 
The same table where in the shade of the cotton¬ 
wood tree they had dined the evening before. 
“Southern Jack,” who was hurrying on to join the 
boys who were going to milk and do chores around 
the stables, turned and called back: “Have plenty 
o’ ham an’ eggs, an’ when Ah come back Ah’ll tote 
some good cold milk from the cellar.” 

When the others were busily engaged in dif¬ 
ferent tasks, that were duties of pleasure this morn¬ 
ing, Howard and Beatrice stole away and, hand- 
in-hand, walked far down the road to where the 
sage-brush grew—a place where on her former 
visit they had lingered in the music of the sunset— 



The Break o' Day 


255 


a spot where the bitter-root blended with the deli¬ 
cate bloom of the cactus, and where in the hearts 
of wind flowers gauzy, frail ephemeras were 
beginning their only day. While the first sun¬ 
beams filtered through the mist and rested on the 
verdure silvered with dew, they watched cattle 
and sheep wake, and listened to the birds sing and 
twitter while looking for their breakfast; and as 
they slowly walked along he took from his 
treasure chest of imagery fascinating stories while 
picturing their future life. 

“Come!” said Beatrice, as they turned to go 
back to where the friends were, “let us go and see 
how the little lamb is getting along.” And they 
found “Southern Jack” with big black eyes and 
tawny complexion, feeding it warm milk out of a 
bottle. He had converted a manger into a bed 
for the little tuft of wool, and when they came 
near he handed the bottle to Beatrice and there 
was witchery in his eyes when he smiled and passed 
through a door leading into a corral w T here horses 
were kept. While they stood fondling the little 
invalid, the breakfast gong sounded and they 
hurriedly joined the hungry throng. 

“Did yo’all cook some rice?” laughed the 
Southerner, as he mischievously glanced to where 
Beatrice and Howard sat. His playful remark 


256 


Sulphur Fumes 


was a cue for joviality, and the breakfast pro¬ 
gressed amid much laughter. 

“Howard, it is not necessary to announce your 
engagement in so many words, for your face is 
like a sign-board with a bright light thrown on,” 
said Mrs. Nichols affectionately. 

Most of the young people were graduates from 
eastern schools and were filled to the overflow 
with toasts and pretty sayings they had heard and 
read. Mr. Nichols, in anticipation of the an¬ 
nouncement, had brought from a shelf in a dark 
corner of the cellar a few bottles of wine that had 
been lying on their sides for years, and the 
sparkle of the fluid as he opened the first bottle 
was like an accompaniment to the lyric of a poet. 
Caroline, with the agility of a deer, sprang to her 
feet and mounted to the seat of her chair and, with 
a glass above her head, offered the first toast to 
the young benedict and his bride elect: 

“We kiss the cup that in love 
Tells of saddest parting moment near, 

We kiss the cup and bid God-speed 
To those we hold in the heart most dear; 

For the hand of time has the lass and the man 
And leads them away in his well-known plan 
To freshen their lives in the Land of Love 
With the dew of Hope and the coo of the Dove,— 
Drink, Time, thou good old man! 


The Break o' Day 


257 


Join in the cup, the love-filled cup 
Of those who sit in circle here; 

Join in the cup and bid it brim 
Of all in Life that most holds cheer 
Thy hand, Old Time, has the lass and the man. 
They have chosen well, thy well-known plan, 

To lead them away to the Land of Love 
Guard them with every shield from above, 

Drink! Time, thou old man!” 

When she left the chair she hurried to where 
Beatrice sat and threw her arms around the girl, 
whose face was bathed in tears. 

Howard’s nerve tension was strong and his 
heart beat fast as he again raised his glass: 

“I think it befitting and a joyous moment,” he 
said in a blithe voice, that carried with it a tone 
of emotion, “for me to offer a toast to the girl I 
love!” and, when he finished speaking, he drew 
Beatrice away from Caroline’s embrace and with 
one of her snow-white hands in one of his, he 
turned to the happy onlookers. 

“Ho ! Boys !” he said, while waving high a glass 
of wine that sparkled in tune with his happy eyes; 

“Lift your glasses up! 

Each gallant, each swain and lover! 

A kiss to the beads that sparkle in the cup, 

A laugh for the pearls spilt over; 

For the soul is alight and the heart beats high 


258 


Sulphur Fumes 


And care has unloosened its tether,— 

So we can give much cheer to drive away sigh 
And have a toast together. 

Swing the goblet aloft; to the lips let it fall! 

Then bend your knee to address her! 

And drink, happy friends, to the queen of them 
all,— 

The girl I love—God bless her! 

Ah, Bohemia’s honey was sweet to the sip—- 
The song and the dance were alluring, 

But out from the smoke-wreaths and music and 
lace 

Of that world of the tawdrily clever, 

There floats a rare spell of a pure, sweet face 
That has claimed my heart forever; 

And I drain my toast with all the rest 
To the dear, tender heart in the pure, white 
breast 

Of the girl I love—God bless her!” 

As he finished speaking he bent down and kissed 
her quivering lips, and before he raised his head 
another toast was offered by a boy who was at the 
opposite side of the table and had quietly listened 
to the others, and during that time rarely ever 
took his eyes off Beatrice, and often Caroline and 
her mother exchanged glances of understanding, 
and when he raised his glass his voice was beauti- 


The Break o' Day 259 

fully euphonious, and each word seemed to carry 
a meaning all its own: 

“If I were king—ah, Beatrice, if I were king! 

What tributary nations would I bring 
To stoop before your sceptre and to swear 
Allegiance to your lips and eyes and hair; 

Beneath your feet what treasures I would fling— 
The stars should be your pearls upon a string, 

The world a ruby for your finger-ring 

And you should have the sun and moon to wear 

If I were king. 

Let these wild dreams and wilder words take wing, 
Deep in the woods I hear a seraph sing, 

A simple ballad to a sylvan air 

Of love, that ever finds your face more fair; 

I could not give you any godlier thing 
If I were king!” 

During the toast there was a stillness akin to 
sadness for many knew of the tumult in the young 
heart of the speaker. 

Howard reached across the table and took both 
of the speaker’s hands in his and with words com¬ 
ing from deep down in his heart thanked him for 
the compliment he had given Beatrice and while 
their hands were entwined one with the other, 
across the table another boy, younger than the 
others, waved his glass in the air and turned to 


260 


Sulphur Fumes 


where a young miss sat beside Mrs. Nichols, and 
laughed in boyish fashion: 

“Toasts of love to the timid dove 
Are always going ’round— 

Let mine be heard by the untamed bird 
And make your glasses sound— 

Here’s to the heart I know beats for me.” 

His words were almost drowned in laughter 
and clapping of hands, but he continued with eyes 
ablaze with merriment: 

“True as the stars above, 

Here’s to the day when mine she’ll be— 

For she’s the only girl I love.” 

The words had hardly passed from his lips 
when two husky boys grabbed him and carried 
him to where the young miss sat blushing. 

“Now kiss her!” they demanded, and a lively 
skirmish followed, for the pretty girl demurred, 
but in vain, for Beatrice and Caroline held her 
fast and soon the deed was done. 

“Southern Jack” called out: “Peers tu me 
thar’ll be some mo’ weddings befoah long,” and 
the flush on the little girl’s cheeks grew deeper. 

“You youngsters have all been having your 
toasts,” laughed Mrs. Nichols. “I’m not going 
to have Pa left out, for I know one that just fits 
him,” and they all held their glasses while she 


The Break o' Day 261 

spoke in tender words full of the purest meaning: 

“Here’s to the eyes that are tender and grey, 

Here’s to the eyes that are true; 

Here’s to the forehead that never frowns 
While speaking words to you. 

Here’s to the eyes of one I love, 

Here’s to the one I trust— 

I do not love him because I will, 

I love him because I must. 

Here’s to the eyes that never rove 
In search of each fair, fresh face— 

A pearl that hath no stain, 

A man who has never been false to his vows, 

And the lips where his own hath lain.” 

It was not necessary to lead him to where the 
mother of his children stood, for, during the time 
she was speaking the words, he had moved close to 
her side, and when the last one came, he spoke 
with much feeling: 

“It seems like another break o’ day,” and then 
tenderly took her in his arms. 

“Now, children,” she said, as she drew away 
and held him by the hand, “just one more toast, 
and then we must turn to our work. 

“The moonlight is gone, but before we depart, 

One cup will go round to the friends of my heart; 
The kindest, the dearest—oh, judge by the tears 
I shed while I name them, so kind and so dear—” 


262 


Sulphur Fumes 


She was interrupted by a rider entering the 
grounds. It was not a cowboy, but a man in 
civilian clothes who rode in. 

Beatrice was quick to recognize him, and, leav¬ 
ing the friends, hurried to where he was dis¬ 
mounting. 

“What is it?” she asked nervously. The sur¬ 
prised friends silently looked to where she stood 
in earnest conversation -with the stranger, but did 
not go to her and she felt relief in that. 

“Your father wishes you to come home—he’s 
in a bad way. I left camp yesterday and rode fast 
all through the night.” 

“You must be hungry and faint,” she said, turn¬ 
ing in the direction the friends were. “Come and 
have some breakfast.” 

“No,” he said, thanking her. “I am in a great 
hurry to reach my destination. It is an impor¬ 
tant errand I am on for Mr. Weyman, your 
father’s conservator. Go home as soon as pos¬ 
sible!"—and with the words he quickly mounted 
and rode away. 


Chapter XXV 

By the Side of the Road 


W HEN HOWARD SAW the stranger 
ride away, he hurried to Beatrice who 
stood silently looking down the road in 
the direction the rider had taken. 

“What is it, Beatrice?” he asked anxiously. 
She did not reply nor turn to where he stood 
with mingled thoughts, silently watching the 
stranger spur his horse on to a faster gait until 
at last he passed over the horizon, when again 
he implored her to speak. His face crimsoned as 
he continued, but no words came from her lips. 
She silently moved closer to where he stood and 
placed her slender fingers in the palm of his warm 
hand, all the time looking in the direction the 
rider had gone. 

“Something unusual has happened,” said Mrs. 
Nichols as they sat quietly looking to where 
Howard and Beatrice stood. 

“The boys had better not go,” said Caroline, 
“until we learn what it is.” 

Beatrice’s eyes still traveled over the road in 
which the stranger had passed, while Howard 


264 


Sulphur Fumes 


again spoke, and his face grew more serious and 
almost bitter as unbidden thoughts came to him. 

“How foolish!” he said to himself, “she could 
not love another while giving me the beautiful 
vows she did last night,” and he drove the 
thoughts away on the gentle breeze that was car¬ 
rying high the dust the hoofs of the rider’s horse 
had made. 

“Beatrice, tell me what has happened!” 

She turned her eyes to him as he spoke and 
told him the stranger who had stopped to speak 
with her was her father’s attorney—and had told 
her she had better return home at once for her 
father was in a bad way. 

“Howard, I must take the first stage anci oh! 
how I dread to leave this wonderful country, and 
—and you,” she said withdrawing her hand from 
his and throwing her arms around his shoulders 
while burying her face on his chest. “It is all so 
dreadful over there in the camp—” She spoke 
with trembling lips of how the sulphur fumes at 
times shut out the bright rays of the sun and of 
the shrouded crimes. “Black as the soot that falls 
in the streets,” she said, as she told him how men 
sold their votes to the highest bidders and how 
politicians, before the day of election, exacted 
promises from candidates for office, and how 



By the Side of the Road 265 

many high officials were owned, body and soul, 
by the moneyed powers. 

Howard shuddered, as he listened to her words, 
knowing she little realized he had been there. 
“Don’t I know it!” he thought, while recalling his 
experience in the camp or “Garden of Hell,” as 
he chose to call it. The horrors of it all came to 
him and for a few seconds his brain did not 
function. He brought himself up with a mental 
jerk and then simultaneously with pure thoughts 
came a smile to his face. 

Beatrice detected it and in surprise quickly 
asked: “What is it, Howard? What amuses 
you ?” 

“I have an idea!” and his eyes sparkled as he 
continued—“I cannot let you go back alone, so 
let’s get married today.” 

Beatrice’s eyes rested on the grass and her foot 
played with a dainty blossom that raised its head 
from amongst the crisp, green blades, while she 
listened to his words. 

“Silence gives consent,” he laughed, “and hesi¬ 
tations are dangerous,” and while speaking he 
threw his arms about her and their lips met again, 
and while they stood in each other’s embrace the 
onlookers made a wild rush to the spot and 
Howard, in a high-pitched voice, called out: 

“We’re going to be married today!” 



266 


Sulphur Fumes 


And while the words echoed in the distant trees, 
boys and girls alike grabbed Beatrice and kissed 
her many times, and then all joined hands and sur¬ 
rounded the happy pair and sang as they danced. 

“Here we go, round the mulberry bush—the 
mulberry bush—the mulberry bush. Here we go 
round the mulberry bush, early in the morning,” 
and when they finished the dance the boys threw 
their hats in the air and gave a hearty cheer. 

“Don’t go until I come out!” said Howard, and 
then with Beatrice, Caroline and her mother, 
turned and went to the house, and when there he 
told who the stranger who had come to speak 
with Beatrice was. 

“He is Beatrice’s father’s attorney and he said 
she had better go home, and she is going on the 
next stage.” A happy smile again played over his 
face. “We are going to be married at the next 
station, or stop, I should say, for this is not a 
station.” 

In much surprise Mrs. Nichols asked if the 
stranger did not state what was wrong with her 
father. 

“No,” said Beatrice, “he only said he was in 
a bad way.” 

“Mother Nichols, can you go with Beatrice as 
far as the station? You know the outgoing stage 
meets the incoming there and you could take it 


By the Side of the Road 267 

back. I’ll ride ahead and get the license and have 
the minister ready.” 

While he was speaking a great idea came to 
Caroline, and when he asked her if she would 
also accompany Beatrice, she hung her head and 
said regretfully: 

“I think someone should stay with dad.” 

Her mother was much surprised and touched at 
her words, but thought it was beautifully sweet for 
her to be so thoughtful. 

“I’ll let you folks talk it over,” she said, with a 
serious expression manufactured for the occasion, 
“while I go out and feed the chickens.” And 
when she passed from the room and closed the 
door behind her, tears were in her mother’s eyes. 

“Ever since she returned from school she has 
surprised me by displaying many new and sweet 
traits of character.” 

When Caroline reached the steps leading to the 
yard, she tip-toed to where the boys and girls 
were and with one finger placed to her mouth, as a 
signal of warning to be quiet, she said in almost 
a whisper: 

“Come with me!” and they all, hand in hand, 
hurried off to a quiet spot behind the stables. 

“He’s going to ride ahead to get the Parson,” 
she laughed, “and mother is going as far as the 
next station with the bride-to-be so let’s follow—” 


268 


Sulphur Fumes 


“An’ give ’em a regl’r ‘cow-puncher’s weddin’.’ ” 
interrupted “Southern Jack.” 

“Yes!” they all laughed. 

“Now, be very solemn,” suggested Caroline, 
“and one by one sneak back near the house, and 
be awful sad when you bid them good-bye.” 

“Caroline, Ah’ll fetch some onions,” said 
“Southern Jack,” “so yo’all can spill lots of tears.” 

Howard was the first to leave and they were 
surprised when they saw him turn from the main 
road and follow a trail leading towards his home. 
In less than an hour the stage that was to carry 
Beatrice away came, and solemnly they all bade 
her good-bye and she and Mrs. Nichols drove 
away. Then came a wild scramble to find riding 
clothes for the girls. Caroline had two riding- 
habits and loaned the extra one to one of the 
girls, and the boys fitted the others out in truly 
cowboy fashion, and they were soon off in the 
wake of the stage. 

Howard stopped at his house and changed his 
clothes to those of a civilian and with a well 
packed valise in one hand, mounted his horse and 
was off for the county seat, where he obtained a 
license to marry and then looked up a minister. 
He quickly explained all he thought was necessary 
to the country parson, who rubbed his hands as he 
listened, and grinned in anticipation of a big fee. 


By the Side of the Road 


269 


“The young lady’s father is not well and we 
are going to the camp and take care of him.” He 
hesitated a moment, and then said: “Would it be 
unusual in performing the ceremony to only use 
the given names of the young lady and myself?” 

“Oh, no!” the parson smiled, “that’s all I ever 
use. It will be ‘Howard, do you take—,’ and so 
forth, and it will be the same with Beatrice, and I 
will finish up,” he said, “by pronouncing you hus¬ 
band and wife.” 

“Fine!” said Howard, consulting his watch as 
they walked towards the open door. “It’s about 
time they were coming.” 

He was flabbergasted and quickly drew back 
from the door when he reached the threshold for 
in the distance a cloud of dust blotted out the 
horizon, and the stage-coach with four horses on 
the gallop came towards them, and it seemed as 
if it were surrounded by an army of cowboys. It 
was not only composed of those who had been 
guests at the party but everyone whom they met on 
the road was invited to the wedding and they 
cheerfully joined in the procession stopping at the 
different ranches on the way to look for old shoes 
and gaudy ribbons to decorate the stage-coach, 
and when that vehicle stopped in front of the 
squatty building where Howard stood in the door¬ 
way, Beatrice leaned out with a helpless expression 


270 


Sulphur Fumes 


playing over her face. Howard quickly went to 
the coach and with face wreathed in smiles said in 
an undertone: 

“Beatrice, they’ve trapped us, so we must be 
good sports and join in, for they are all our 
friends,” and she was equal to the occasion and 
laughed: 

“How wonderful to have a ‘cow-puncher’ 
escort.” 

A moment after Beatrice reached the station 
the stage from the other direction came in sight 
and soon drew in and stopped close to the coach 
in which she sat. In it were many easterners who 
quickly and heartily joined in the festivities, and 
a cowboy wedding was performed at the side of 
the road. “Southern Jack” was the best man and 
Caroline the maid of honor. The country store 
was stripped of rice and the bar of its ginger-ale 
and pop, and when the stage pulled out with the 
wedding party aboard and headed for the smoky 
camp, many old shoes and quickly made signs of 
mirth adorned the rear where they had been 
securely fastened by gaudy ribbons. 

A. short time later at the station Norman Haw¬ 
ley heard the amusing story of the wedding and he 
spurred his horse on to a lively canter. 

“I’d like to see the bride,” he mused. “From the 
account they gave of her she must be a beauty!” 


By the Side of the Road 


271 


And when he caught up with the stage he reined 
in slightly and urged his horse close to the vehicle. 
“I’ll take a peek,” he said, half aloud, and as he 
leaned forward his eyes rested on those of 
Beatrice, who sat looking on in surprise. The 
rider’s face flushed, as he stiffened up and called: 

“Congratulations!”—and with the call his spurs 
sank into the side of his horse and he was off. 

“Who is he?” asked Howard, in a tone that 
suggested the power of possession, and the 
answer was: 

“The mysterious rider—my father’s attorney.” 


Chapter XXVI 

Paying the Price 


N ORMAN HAWLEY reached the dismal 
looking camp some time in advance of the 
bride and groom and one of the first per¬ 
sons he met on the street was Kovinsky. 

“Did you hear Beatrice Dunlap was married, 
today?” he asked, after formal greetings were 
exchanged. 

“No !” said the surprised man. 

“Yes, it’s true,” said Hawley, “and they now 
are on their way to this place and will arrive on 
the next stage.” 

“Who did she marrit?” asked Kovinsky. “Ze 
olt man vill raise hells!” 

“I don’t know the fellow she married,” an¬ 
swered Hawley. “I was told at the stage station 
his name is Stillman.” 

“Vel vot efer it ees I can see hells raisin!” 
“Keep an eye out and perhaps you will find 
you know him,” said Hawley as he turned to 
leave. “I must go up and warn Dunlap for a 
severe shock might fix him”; and he hurried off 
toward Anthony Dunlap Jr.’s home. 


Paying the Price 


273 


It was dark when Howard and Beatrice 
reached the camp, but not far into the night, for 
in the autumn the days are short and several hours 
of twilight and darkness had passed before they 
reached their destination. The night was clear 
and the air brisk, and the lights of the camp on 
the side of the mountain twinkled and the heavens 
shone much like the night he and Stanley had met 
at the mouth of the Canyon. The stage had 
stopped at the mouth of the same canyon and, at 
the earnest solicitation of Howard, the driver 
had removed the wedding decorations. 

Soon they reached the brow of a hill overlook¬ 
ing the valley that lay between them and the rug¬ 
ged diggings. “How different,” thought Howard, 
as he watched the glimmer, “from the night I 
first came to the camp,” and he wondered where 
his friends were who drove the ox-team on his 
second and tragic visit. “I don’t care if Dunlap 
does see me,” he mused. “If he does, he prob¬ 
ably won’t recognize me, and I don’t care if he 
does—our scores are settled. He stole what 
rightfully belonged to me—my money and my 
name, so that settles it. I’m with Beatrice and 
I’m going to protect her, and help her care for 
her father.” 

“What is bothering you, Howard?” asked 


274 


Sulphur Fumes 


Beatrice. “You look troubled, and you are al¬ 
most talking to yourself.” 

Fie did not reply, but drew her closer to him 
and there they sat during the journey across the 
valley. After a steep climb up the hill, the stage 
stopped in front of the Dunlap home. They hur¬ 
riedly left the coach and just after Beatrice passed 
through the door, Floward felt something pull 
at his sleeve. 

“Yust one moments,” said a voice hardly above 
a whisper, and as Howard turned he saw an old 
man bent and crippled with rheumatism and his 
hands trembling with palsy, and he recognized 
in the wrinkled face, Kovinsky. 

“What is it?” he asked sternly. 

“I vant to talk,” and he hesitated suspiciously 
before continuing, “I hears youse haf marrit ze 
goil.” 

“Well, what of it?” snapped Howard. 

A wicked smile passed over the man’s face. 
“It vill take some monies for me to keep my 
mouth shut.” 

Fire shone in Howard’s eyes. 

“I hate to strike a cripple,” he said, excitedly, 
“but it saves me the necessity of killing one,” and 
as he spoke his right arm shot out and an upper¬ 
cut sent Kovinsky reeling to the street and he fol¬ 
lowed it by another. When the excited man 


Paying the Price 


275 


scrambled to his feet he hurriedly walked away. 

“Gee! He haf developed!” an onlooker heard 
him say as he passed by. 

Beatrice went directly to her father’s bed¬ 
chamber where she found the feeble man in a 
violent rage and when Howard entered the house 
he heard loud talking and hurried on in the di¬ 
rection from which the sounds came, and when 
he opened the door leading into the room where 
the excited conversation was taking place his eyes 
first rested on Norman Hawley, who had hurried 
to the house to notify Beatrice's father of her 
marriage. He was sitting quietly looking on 
while the old man upbraided his daughter for an 
injustice to him, as he chose to call it. 

The father’s voice calmed when he saw the 
stranger enter the room. He was bolstered up 
in bed and the light in the chamber was dim, so 
dim he could not recognize anyone at the distance 
Howard stood from the bed, and to his feeble 
eyes Howard was merely a phantom outline of 
a man. 

“Father, this is my husband,” said Beatrice, 
and Howard stepped nearer the bed as Beatrice 
turned to switch on more light. “I want you to 
see and talk with him,” she said, while turning 
back to the bed. 

“What is it?” she cried, as her eyes rested on 


27 6 


Sulphur Fumes 


the tragic sight, for her father was lying back 
on his pillow ghastly pale, while Howard stood 
speechless beside the bed. “What has hap¬ 
pened?” she asked again excitedly, as she took 
Howard by the arm. 

“Nothing,” was all he said, as he moved a little 
closer, and with eyelids half closed stood intently 
gazing upon the man who was paying the price. 

Norman Hawley went to the bedside and 
raised the invalid up on the pillows and smoothed 
his hair back from his forehead. As Howard 
stood watching, his arm stole around Beatrice’s 
waist and he drew her close to his side. 

“Mr. Dunlap, what is troubling you?” asked 
Hawley, and an answer came quickly but in a 
voice suddenly grown feeble: 

“She’s married her cousin!” 

Hawley quickly looked up to where Howard 
stood with his arm around Beatrice, who seemed 
dazed, and not fully comprehending the situation. 

“Is that so?” asked Norman, turning to where 
Beatrice and Howard stood. 

“Ask him,” answered Howard, with his free 
hand pointing to the bed where the invalid lay 
with protruding eyes. “Fie knows,” and in a 
moment continued: “I did not know I was a 
cousin of Beatrice’s until I entered this room, 


Paying the Price 


277 


neither did I know she was a daughter of this 
man.” Again he hesitated, and stood steadily 
watching the man, who did not reply to his words. 
“Make him speak again!” Howard continued, in 
a voice that seemed threatening. 

“Speak, you coward and thief!” he said leaning 
closer to the man on the bed, and then with eyes 
turned to where Hawley stood, said determinedly: 
“Beatrice is my second cousin, and I love her! 
All the powers on God’s green earth cannot sep¬ 
arate us! This man, and those whom he collabo¬ 
rated with, robbed me of my heritage, but they 
cannot rob me of the girl I love! Fate steered 
our crafts into a placid sea and our souls blended 
like the meeting of waters, and we will float on 
together through life. It is true, I was born out 
of wedlock but my mother was a sweet, loving 
woman, betrayed by an unclean brute of a man, 
the same as this man who lies on the bed before 
us. Thank God my soul is clean and when I leave 
this earth I will not pass through a weed tangled 
moor, for my feet will tread on a grand plateau 
where the light of honor shines o’er and when I 
look down from that plateau I shall see cowards 
such as you.” While he spoke the last words he 
turned to where Dunlap lay, half dazed with fear, 
and hesitated a few seconds before continuing: 
“Feeling their way in search of a lighted shore.” 


278 


Sulphur Fumes 


The mental sufferer was humiliated and re¬ 
gained a partial composure when he heard the 
acid words, but with it all came a respect for the 
fearless boy, and he held out his hand to him. 

“Will you take me by the hand?” he said, 
feebly. 

“No!” Howard answered, spiritedly. “Your 
hand is not fit to touch mine!” 

He seemed to have not heard the last words 
spoken, for he raised himself up from the pillows 
and again reached out his trembling hand. 

“I like you—will you forgive me?” 

“He’s Beatrice’s father,” thought Howard, 
“and for her sake I cannot say ‘no’—I’ll not 
answer the question.” 

Beatrice put both arms around his shoulders. 
“Howard, do not give way to such violent anger!” 

“Dear,” he said, drawing her still closer, “I 
am not violent, but the injustice of it all sends my 
blood rioting, and my mind is at white heat.” 

When he continued to speak, his voice was 
modified but determined. 

“You have spent your life in shadows that hide 
the knowledge of pure life, and perhaps you are 
not so very much to blame for being a thief. You 
have been the prey of Jack Harvey, for with a 
wave of his hand you became subservient to his 
wishes. Now that he has gone the spell is broken 



Paying the Price 


279 


and you have been let down with a thud, and you 
cannot regain your footing, and you suffer the 
tortures of the damned while paying the price.” 

While he spoke these words, Beatrice remem¬ 
bered the story her father had told her of the little 
red devils dancing before his eyes. 

“Your life has been a failure,” continued How¬ 
ard, “a lost type, groping in the dark. No—I 
will not take your hand. If you were well, in¬ 
stead of offering me your hand you would tell 
me to go to hell!” 

“Don’t Howard—oh, don’t!” said Beatrice 
imploringly, as she held fast to his arm. 

The sufferer turned his head and motioned to 
Hawley to come nearer, and said: “I want to 
transfer everything to him—all I have is his—I 
stole it from him,” and in a rambling, jerky way, 
semi-unconscious, he told how the theft of the 
stock was planned and each moment becoming 
more excited until Hawley finally put his hand on 
his forehead, which was hot and dry, and tried 
to reason with him. 

“Mr. Dunlap,” he said, “do not let yourself 
become excited—you could not make the trans¬ 
fer—Mr. Weyman is your guardian.” 

“Then go to the telephone and call him!” 

As Hawley left the room to do so, Howard’s 




280 


Sulphur Fumes 


upper lip curled in scorn but he did not stir from 
where he stood with one arm around Beatrice. 

It was not many moments before Stanley Wey- 
man entered the room. He had not heard of 
Beatrice’s marriage, for Hawley’s message was 
only: “Come over to Dunlap’s as soon as pos¬ 
sible!” 

When he entered the room and stepped close 
to the bed the sufferer said, in a voice steadily 
growing more feeble: 

“I sent for you to come to me so that I might 
thank you for your kindness in early days to my 
son—” 

“What a travesty,” said Howard, in bitter 
words, just above a whisper. “Son,” and his lips 
curled when he thought the word. 

And pointing to Howard, the sufferer contin¬ 
ued: “I am leaving him to perpetuate the name 
of Dunlap.” 

Stanley looked in the direction in which he 
pointed, and when his eyes met Howard’s cynical 
smile he almost gasped for breath. His former 
profession had schooled him to control his ex¬ 
pression, and, like a man of the world, merely 
answered, “Yes,” but his brain was in a whirl¬ 
wind of wonderment. 

“I want you to make him president of the Cor¬ 
poration,” said the old man, feebly, “for you, as 


Paying the Price 


281 


my guardian, have the power to do so.” When 
he finished speaking, he turned his eyes to How¬ 
ard and a pitiful smile passed over his face. 
“Will you take my hand in yours?” 

“No,” said Howard, bitterly, and then spoke 
calmly. “As you are entering the shadows of a 
long night you commercialize thoughts on the fu¬ 
ture of your soul and think you can win my re¬ 
spect with flattering offers. You and your con¬ 
federates robbed me of the name of Dunlap, and 
I,” he said, proudly, “relieved your daughter of 
that name weighted down with stigma, and before 
you stands Beatrice Stillman.” Then, turning to 
Stanley, who had hardly regained his composure, 
he smiled affectionately, “Mr. Weyman gave me 
the name of Stillman.” 

Beatrice, who was a silent onlooker, did not 
urge Howard to take the proffered hand, for she 
now felt he was justified in his anger and it was 
right for her father to be punished. Howard 
bent down and affectionately spoke to her in a 
whisper: 

“Beatrice, dear, he is your father, that is all,” 
and her answer to his words was a warm press 
of her fingers. 

While he spoke, the dim eyes of the sufferer 
turned to the table where the crystal Harvey had 
given him stood, and Norman Hawley understood 


282 


Sulphur Fumes 


the wistful expression passing over his face, and, 
with a knowing glance to where Beatrice stood, 
said: 

“Mr. Dunlap, do you want the crystal?” 

Howard and Stanley exchanged glances, for 
they did not understand. 

“Yes,” was the feeble answer. 

Hawley turned to the table and when Stanley 
saw the shining ball he said to himself, “A crystal 
gazer! I have often wondered if it were not so.” 

The old man’s hands trembled when he took 
the brilliant ball from Hawley’s hand and his ex¬ 
pression was as eager as a child waiting to receive 
a piece of candy. He fondled and caressed it as 
a little girl would have done with her doll, and 
then lay back on his pillows and his eyes seemed 
to rest on a spot on the ceiling, and those in the 
room watched them grow dimmer and dimmer at 
each tick of the clock until at last they lost ex¬ 
pression and his soul had passed to its reckoning. 

Beatrice did not go from Howard’s warm 
caress, but turned and buried her face on his 
breast. 

Stanley, who had fully recovered his health in 
the exhilarating air of the far West, stood a silent 
onlooker, but it was only for a moment, for How¬ 
ard, in his enthusiasm, intensified by his wrought 
up nerves, turned and threw his arms around his 


Paying the Price 


283 


friend, as a boy would have done with his father. 
The elder man was silent, but a smile and an in¬ 
describable expression played over his face. 

“What a queer coincidence, but I love Beat¬ 
rice, and I know she loves me.” 

“Howard,” said Stanley, displaying much af¬ 
fection, “you and Beatrice must come to my home 
and stay. Take her now, my boy—the house¬ 
keeper will be there to receive you. I will stay 
here with Mr. Hawley and attend to all things 
that are necessary to be done.” 



Chapter XXVII 
A Light in the Window 

E ARLY one crisp Autumn morning, Howard 
and Beatrice rode out from the sulphur 
fumes and on across the flat, where the sides 
of the winding road were lined with road-houses, 
where some roisterers slept and many stood 
around roulette wheels, or quietly watching a faro 
dealer draw one card after another, while others 
were putting silver pieces in the slot of an 
orchestrala, coaxing it to grind out more “jazz.” 

They passed automobiles and hacks with tops 
thrown back and men and women alike, blear-eyed, 
smoking and singing on their way back to the 
camp after a night of dissipation, and some hacks 
had the tops up and the curtains closely drawn. 

They walked their horses while passing the 
Nine Mile House and the only sound they heard 
was the steady jingle of the bell of a cow 
grazing in an enclosure near the sleepy look¬ 
ing road-house. The shades of the rambling 
building were drawn and sleepy looking horses 
were tied outside of the fence where, with blank¬ 
ets thrown over their backs, they stood waiting 


A Light in the Window 285 

to carry their owners and friends up the hill to 
the camp. 

Howard had purchased, before leaving the 
diggings, a carriage and a spirited span of horses. 
The crisp, cool air coming from the canyon stimu¬ 
lated them, and they curved their necks and 
raised their knees gracefully at each step, play¬ 
fully crowding together while crossing a cordu¬ 
roy bridge that spanned a small stream, where 
the waters sparkled and sang as they flowed 
towards the sea. 

Beatrice stopped to gather some Balm of Gil¬ 
ead boughs, the leaves of which the frost had 
turned to a golden yellow, and when she had 
placed them carefully away underneath the seat 
of the carriage, they drove on past an old deserted 
shack, that stood by the side of the road, and as 
they approached another tumbled down place with 
its sod roof overgrown with weeds, Howard 
reined in to listen to a dove mournfully calling for 
its mate. Like a mauve ball of feathers it sat de¬ 
jectedly on a scantling projecting from the roof. 
He was attracted by the loneliness of the bird, 
which, as they drew near, ruffled its feathers and 
flew away to another shack close by, and when the 
hardly audible cooing came to where the horses 
slowly walked along, Howard put his arm around 
Beatrice and drew her close in his embrace. 


286 


Sulphur Fumes 


“IVe got my mate with me,” he said, affection¬ 
ately, and the horses walked for some time, for 
he drove with one hand. 

They had gone some distance when he mo¬ 
tioned with his head to a trail that led from the 
side of the road they were traveling. 

“That is the road,” he said, “that Stanley 
Weyman and I took years ago when we made our 
quick ‘get-awayk It is a long, winding trail and 
it takes almost two days to make the trip, but 
this way it is much shorter, for it is the public high¬ 
way and is made as straight as possible. With 
a little touch of the whip now and then we will 
make it by twilight.” 

And he was true to his word, for when they 
reached the plateau above the valley on the far¬ 
ther side of the mountains, the sun was going 
down and the world taking on its crimson glow, 
and not far along the road in front of them, in 
the soft shades of twilight, stood “Southern Jack,” 
and Beatrice recognized Caroline’s horse and 
phaeton that stood by the side of the road. Jack 
smiled happily when they came close to where 
he stood. 

“Ah thought yo’ all would come by the stage, 
so Ah came to meet yo’ an’ take yo’ direct to yo’ 
home, foah yo’ know it is Thanksgivin’ Day, an’ 


A Light in the Window 287 

Mother an’ Father Nichols are ovah yondah at 
yo’ home cookin’ the dinner.” 

He stopped speaking and his eyes turned to 
Beatrice sympathetically. “We thought, under 
the existing circumstances, yo’ would rather have 
just the family, so Caroline and Ah were the only 
outsiders invited.” 

Beatrice smiled her thanks, but wondered at 
the word “outsiders.” 

“Look at her now!” he continued, “she’s a reg¬ 
ular ‘cow-girl’!” And when they looked in the 
direction he pointed, they saw Caroline riding 
towards them, waving her hat in the air and spur¬ 
ring her horse on to great speed, her long blonde 
curls dancing in the air as if playing an accom¬ 
paniment to the horse’s strides. 

Before she reached the place where they stood, 
watching, Jack had told them of his engagement. 
“Ah’s bought a ranch ovah yondah back o’ vo’ 
place, an’ we are goin’ to live thar.” 

Beatrice smiled and then understood the word 
“outsiders.” 

“Then you figure you and Caroline are out¬ 
siders?” 

“No, not exactly just yet,” he answered, looking 
down and scraping the earth with his foot, “but 
befoah another winter comes we all will be livin’ 
thar.” 


288 


Sulphur Fumes 


He did not have a large vocabulary but his 
heart was big and people loved him for his kind¬ 
ness and his tender sympathy for the more hum¬ 
ble life. 

“Tell me, Jack,” said Beatrice, “how is the 
little lamb?” 

“Fine! Miss Beatrice—fine!” he answered. 
“Ah toted it oveh to yo’ house. It's weaned but 
Ah thought best to take the bottle along,” and 
Beatrice thought she detected a twinkle in his 
eyes as he spoke. 

They were interrupted by Caroline reining in 
close by the carriage where Beatrice sat. She was 
off in an instant and threw the end of the hitch¬ 
ing rope to Jack. 

“It’s all I have—I couldn’t find a bridle,” she 
laughed, and then she and Beatrice exchanged 
greetings that only girls understand. 

“Look!” said Beatrice, pointing to where the 
southerner stood tying Caroline’s horse to the 
back of his phaeton. Caroline’s cheeks crim¬ 
soned and a happy smile shone in her eyes. 

“Did he tell you?” she asked. 

“Yes,” said Beatrice, and again they were in 
each other’s embrace; and while they were ex¬ 
changing little confidences so dear to young 
womanhood, Jack took an empty box from his 


A Light in the Window 289 

phaeton and, placing it by the roadside, said to 
Howard: 

“Ah thought yo’ all was acomin’ by the stage, 
so Ah toted the box along to sit on. Reckon 
Ah’ll not need it now,” and with a mischievous 
smile directed to the listener, said: “How about 
yo’ ?” 

“No,” answered Howard, laughing, “you had 
better leave it by the side of the road.” 

And soon they were off, Jack and Caroline 
leading the way, and when twilight died into night 
a light shone forth in the window of their little 
home—far away from the sulphur fumes that 
canopy the Garden of Hell. 


The End. 
















































